


Magpie

by rain_in_paris



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Backstory, Death, Historical Inaccuracy, Internalized Homophobia, Kinda, M/M, Military, Military Inaccuracies, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-film, Really it's to counteract the sad, Romance, Some of this is funny cause I like to think I'm funny, Superstition, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-03-16 17:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13641102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_in_paris/pseuds/rain_in_paris
Summary: Spit in the face of death. That's how he'd heard one of them describe it. This is war. You have to try to put death on a leash before it sinks its teeth into you. That's why Evans always put the locket his daughter gave him in his plane before a mission. That's why Reynolds never tells his wife "I love you" on a call while he's on base (though they say it in other ways). That's why so many of the airmen have such tokens on them, whether its jewelry, a picture, a gift from a loved one. But Farrier? His good luck charm was a person...[How Farrier met Collins and other such things.]





	1. One For Sorrow, Two For Joy

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the movie way back in the summer...didn't even know it existed until skimming the comments of a Youtube video for the Interstellar soundtrack. And I couldn't stop thinking about it and these two boys. So, what happens? I post fanfic for the first time in YEARS, that's what happens. Some of this is going to be inaccurate (I'm sorry!). And some of it is going to be silly (can't help but write Collins as a little shit). Like this started with the intention of being all sweet and sad, but blondie said 'hold my beer' and shit got wild, so... Anyway, I super enjoyed writing this and I hope you guys like it <3

When Farrier first meets him, he’s standing at attention in front of his chair with a duffel bag at his feet. He’s a fresh faced youngster. Someone he vaguely remembers seeing around base every now and again. And now, well, his not so fresh face was covered in streaks of oil. Hm, oddly matching the ones that streaked across the side of the fighter that had just been rolled in. Funny, that. He’d _wondered_ what fool of a man had been responsible for it. A brand new Spitfire and already in a mess. Add that to the fact that this...this sorry state of a boy was being screamed at by a red faced Captain Norwood (friendly, docile Captain Norwood?) and he felt he had his answer. Fairly new to base and yet somehow he'd gotten the most confrontation adverse man there riled into a tizzy. A feat of feats, if he were going to be honest. 

Well, this was going to be an interesting morning, wasn’t it? 

“I can’t do this, anymore! I can’t deal with him!” Norwood’s attention was now turned to him. “I’m damn close to getting his ass discharged!” 

Farrier watched him rip a sheet of paper from his pocket and jolted when a shaking hand pressed it to his chest. 

“You, _you_ are under his jurisdiction, now,” he stuck his thumb over his shoulder to Farrier. “One more chance, you get! _One more_! Don’t you look at me like that, Collins! Damn you, boy! It’s high time someone taught you a little something about respect!" 

The boy, this _Collins_ looked between the two men before him. The quick smirk on his lips was now gone, though he still looked like he was trying not to laugh. There was something quite aggravating about him, really. From the way he stood to the way he looked clean across his nose into Farrier’s eyes. Like this was some sort of challenge. The words “under his jurisdiction” truly began to sink in at that moment. A feeling of dread settled into Farrier's chest as it appeared he was now going to be attached to the brat for awhile. How peachy. 

Norwood finally let out a breath, sliding back into his more easy-going manners. Though the redness in his face and angry tremors in his hands didn’t cease. Farrier quirked an eyebrow at him. Expression cleanly asking if he’d care to explain himself. 

“I-I’m sorry to spring this on you,” he scrambled. “And for the outburst. I need...stand at _attention, Collins!_...for the love of...aye, I need someone to take this boy into their squadron.” 

Farrier held the assaulting papers at arm's length and tried to straighten the wrinkles out of them. “Pauly needs another man.” 

“Pauly _had him_ . He’s the one he was trying to _replace_.” 

“And Evans?” 

“Evans was about to kill him before I got hold of him last week. Listen, Farrier, I hate to ask you this, especially considering how recent your loss was. But I honestly have nowhere to put him. If we weren’t in such dire need of men, I’d have kicked his ass into the streets a long time ago. But I don’t have that luxury. Talked to Ives about it, already and he said he'd take him in and you could train him up.” 

Farrier let a tired, little sigh escape his lips. _Thanks, Ives_. 

“Please? I’m asking you as a friend,” he ground the last part between his teeth and glowered at a fidgeting Collins again. “How in hell you passed basic training, you damn-” 

“Okay, okay,” Farrier raised his hands, trying to keep the situation from escalating, again. “I’ll take care of it.” 

“Thank you so much,” the relief on Norwood’s face was immediate. He ran his stubby fingers through thinning hair and said, “I do owe you one.” 

“It’s no problem. Really. Nothing to worry about.” 

That was apparently all Norwood needed to hear before he was gone in a quick second. His usual laissez faire sort of waddle was replaced by long, fast strides that looked pretty ridiculous with his short legs. He must have been afraid that he would be stuck with the boy for good if he didn’t haul ass out of there. Now it was Farrier’s burden to bear, whatever this odd burden might be. 

He stood from his chair. Stiffly and with a grunt over his bad back. Farrier gave the papers a quick shake before squinting at the print. Just letting Collins stay at attention, like he wasn’t going to give him the time of day. And even straight faced, he could tell he was agitated by that. 

“Mm, William Collins,” he read. “Correct?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Let’s see. Twenty one years old, did well in flight school. Everything’s in check... Hmm, ‘has problems with authority’.” 

He glimpsed up. Collin’s expression stayed the same. 

“‘Prone to getting into fights’, mph, ‘does not like to follow instructions and believes he’s above the rules’, pity. ‘Committed property damage-’” 

“That one wasn’t my fault, sir.” 

“‘-has a bad habit of speaking out of turn.” 

Collins opened his mouth, but thought better of it, with a quiet huff. 

“Well, William,” Farrier’s eyes fell over the list of names signed under each infraction. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself in such a short amount of time, haven’t you?” 

‘WIlliam’ didn’t answer. He was something else, really. With tufts of light golden hair and the biggest, brightest blue eyes he’d ever laid his own on. _The Germans would just love to have their hands on this kid,_  he thought wryly.                                                       

“Allright, Collins, I don’t ask for a lot, here. Just that you clean up after yourself, be respectful, and make sure you don’t cause any trouble.” 

“Yes sir.” 

“You’re scheduled for training in the morning, I see.” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Guess  we can, uh…” he glanced back at the plane. “Have you scrub that down, there. What on earth did you get into, anyway?” 

“Ay, uh, had a bit of an accident, sir.” 

Farrier snorted. “Apparently. Here.” 

He tossed a rag, which was caught one handed. 

“Clean your face off. You look like a bloody magpie.” 

Collins narrowed his eyes at that. But he wordlessly wiped the assaulting oil, or whatever hell it was, from his face. 

“Now, I suppose I should take you to our room, shouldn’t I?” Farrier handed the duffel bag to him. 

“Ay s’pose so. Sir.” 

“You don’t have to say ‘sir’ after every sentence. That gets annoying, after awhile.” 

“Okey, sir.” 

“You’re a rather cheeky little thing, aren’t you?” 

Collins’ straight face was replaced by a childish grin. “Ay forgot myself, honestly.” 

“Mm, I’m sure you did.” 

The rooms weren’t too much of a distance away from the hanger, which Farrier’s joints always thanked them for. However, this trip seemed to take an oppressive amount of time. He knew they’d get a new officer sooner, rather than later. But he wasn’t too intent on playing babysitter to some kid who needed an attitude adjustment. Not when he had so much to focus on, being promoted to Flight Lieutenant and all. And the mere fact that he could _feel_ Collins' eyes on him almost the whole time. He just itched to tell him to _fucking stop that_ because it was getting under his skin. But he wasn’t going to let him know it bugged him. Nah, he was definitely not going to do that. 

“Allright,” he opened the door. “Here we are. Make yourself comfortable. Just don’t take too long.” 

“Just two beds?” Collins said. “Nice.” 

“Tired of sharing with the others?” 

“Yeah. Ay like my privacy. And you seem pretty private yerself, so that makes it even better.” 

He threw his bag on the bed, creating a dip of wrinkles where it had formerly been pristine. 

“So, what's yer name, again?” 

“Farrier…” 

“No, no, ay know that,” he laughed. “What's yer first name?” 

“Jack,” Farrier folded his arms. “But you're calling me Farrier.” 

Collins had to resist rolling his eyes. “Right, right, ay know. Jack Farrier. Suits you, really. You look like a ‘Jack’.” 

“Mmm and how exactly does one _look_ like a ‘Jack’?” 

Collins shrugged and began removing his clothes from the bag, “You just do.” 

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment, I suppose. Make sure you get the wrinkles out of that bed when your done. Allright?” 

“Yes, Pa.” 

********************* 

The next week or so was rather uneventful. Farrier had started out watching Collins’ every move. Everything he did was met with quiet suspicion. The elder figuratively (and sometimes literally) slept with one eye open. He learned quickly that his new mate didn’t sleep very much himself and had the habit of staring at the ceiling while deep in his thoughts. Other than that? Normal. Er, normal enough. A little flaky with some things, a little mouthy with others, but otherwise...? Though still remaining wary, Farrier finally concluded that he must have been duped. Duped or the butt of some odd prank. 

“Hey Farrier!” Evans waved at him from one of the tables in the mess hall. “How ya been, huh? Always by your lonesome. Sit over here, why don’t you?” 

“How’s it going with the new plane, huh?” Taylor asked, when Farrier had made his way to the table. Always paired off with Evans, as he was. “Good? Good, right?” 

Farrier nodded. 

“What? That’s it? Not even a word?” 

“It’s taking some time getting used to it.” 

“Oh come on, mate! Those Spitfires are the best thing the RAF has given us in a long time! Don’t tell me you’d rather go back to that old Hurricane of yours.” 

“Taylor, I swear if I didn’t know you any better, I’d think you were a salesman,” Evans shook his head. 

“Well hell, I just know a good piece of equipment when I see it,” Taylor shoveled food in his mouth as he made his point. 

“And weren’t you the same one writing love notes to the Hurricanes when they first came out?” 

“He’s got you, there,” Farrier said. 

“Hey, I just like the Spitfire better, is that so wrong?” 

“No, I guess not,” Evans then turned to Farrier. “So, how’s it going with that little devil, huh?” 

It took Farrier a moment to realize he was the one being addressed. “Little devil?” 

Evans nodded toward the back of the room, where the subject of his question was sitting alone. Reading a book and slowly eating his meal, as if he had all the time in the world. 

“Collins? He’s…” Farrier studied Evan’s face, still feeling like he was being played. “He’s surprisingly pleasant.” 

Taylor let out a loud “Ha!” while Evans chuckled right along. 

“Oh, don’t _lie_ , Farrier. Always playing about like nothing ever bothers you. Really, you can tell me. I don’t see any bald spots, yet, but _pleasant?_ ” 

“Well, he runs his mouth a bit, but yeah. Considering all I’ve heard, ‘pleasant’ is a good enough word for him.” 

“Lies, lies,” Taylor scooped up more food. “It’s gotta be a lie. He knows you all were gettin’ him by dumping that boy in his squadron. Seein’ how he handles it, being the newest lieutenant. He’s not going to let you see him crack, are ya, Farrier?” 

Oh, so they _were_ trying to play tricks on him. How lovely. Just beginning a war and they were joking around like idiots. Like he needed to be hazed, anyway. 

“Maybe Norwood scared some sense into him,” he said. 

“Bullshit. No one’s afraid of Norwood. A German see’s his plane in the mirror, they’ll think he’s there for tea.” 

“Oh I don’t know,” a smirk played across Farrier’s face. “Boy nearly drove his soul from his body.” 

“I believe it,” Evans laughed. 

But it was true. That was the odd thing about it. Collins always did what he was asked, though it wasn’t really much. Farrier was never the guy to breathe down one’s neck or constantly berate those beneath his rank. Something a few higher level officers around base loved to do and Evans just so happened to be one of them. With Collins being a bit of a smart ass, as well as constantly wondering about orders he was given; why they should do one thing and not another. _That’s_ something he could see driving Evans up a wall. His beliefs were that these young recruits needed to be seen, not heard. Oh yeah. Those two would definitely butt heads. But he found that simply answering Collins' questions satisfied him enough. Just the curious sort who wanted to learn. 

Still… 

“I know it must be a sore spot, though,” Evans continued. “I won’t say that bastard isn’t a decent pilot, but compared to Bradbury…” 

“Oh yeah,” Taylor said. “Not to gush, y’know, but Farrier, you and Bradbury were such hell on those damn Jerrys. They were scared to see ya coming. Y’know they were.” 

Farrier’s grunt was meant as an acceptance of that compliment. But the mere mention of his squadron’s former lieutenant was picking at a wound that was too fresh to be messed with. 

“Would’ve been a damn fine squadron leader,” Evans said. “Favorite drinking partner, too. I miss that bloke.” 

“Hard to believe it’s only been one week.” 

Farrier slowly nodded. Was that all it was? One _measly_ week? 

That was the good thing about the RAF. The military in general, to be honest. They had too many things to do. Too many drills to run, planes to take care of, uniforms and rooms to straighten...Everything had its place and time. Though, as grinding as it was, it was something that kept him from going absolutely mad. Pondering on death wasn't exactly on the schedule.  

And even though he was there from an oh _so_ funny prank, he was wondering if that’s why they shipped Collins to him. Because, who had time to lose themselves in grief when you were having to teach a grown man _how to make up a bed_? 

“Collins, you have your uniform as perfect as a man could get it. How does this not translate to you?” 

“It’s not the same thing! Ay iron my uniform. Can’t bloody iron a whole bed.” 

“All you have to do is pull this here tighter and then _smooth_ the wrinkles out. Like I showed you. _Twice_.” 

“Ay did that! _Twice_!” 

“Well damn well _try again_. When Fox comes in here and yells at you for the fuck-teenth time, I don’t want to hear you whining about it later.” 

Collins threw his hands in the air and growled at this whole situation. Exactly what Farrier _felt_ like doing. The boy roughly yanked the sheet up, swiped his hand across the leftover lumps and tucked the edges under the mattress. 

“There!” he put his hands on his hips and stared Farrier down. Farrier who was leaning against the concrete wall with his hand cradling his forehead. “Better?” 

“It. Looks. Worse.” 

“Well ay damn give up. Fuck this bed, honestly. Ain’t a damn plane. Can’t fight with a fuckin’ bed. Why do they make us do this shit anyway? Oh, ay’ll just show up at Hitler’s bloody door, ‘knock, knock! Oh hiya Mr. Hitler! If you have a moment, allow me to wrap your throat with this pristine set of sheets! They’re wrinkle free, just for you!’ Bloody damn hell with this bullshit…” 

And he went on. And on. And on. Until Farrier just sat on Collins’ bed and stared into space with a blank expression like a man having battle flashbacks. 

That was just the first hour of the day (and yes, Collins got yelled at by Fox, like he said he would). 

It didn’t still his chipper attitude, though. The little shit was so weirdly immune to adversity. Just grinning like he, his mother, and future children weren’t cursed to the bottom rings of hell minutes before. Farrier had come to the conclusion that he was clearly off his rocker. 

“So, Pa,” he smiled up to Farrier, who was halfway out of the cockpit, cleaning the plane for their next drill. “What are we set up for today?” 

“Well, next on the itinerary is for you to stop calling me Pa.” 

“Aw, c’mon. It’s a term of endearment.” 

“It’s damn annoying, is what it is. Go clean up your plane. We have half an hour before we leave.” 

“Oh, ay cleaned mine up last night. So, hey! Ay’m ahead of you fer once! Looks like yer getting slower. Those old bones holding ya back?” 

“I’m barely older than you, Collins.” 

“Ah, lighten up. Many cultures cherish their elders.” 

“Nine years. Nine years older than you.” 

“So you were joining the RAF when ay was still a kid,” Collins let out a low whistle. 

“Can you please go do something useful until it’s time to go?” 

“Ay take it yer not the joking type, huh?” 

“I can take a joke. You’re just not funny.” 

“Well...that was rather uncalled for.” 

Farrier heard a sniff. Then, noticing he was being ignored, a louder sniff. 

“Collins!” he popped out of the plane. “Out. Go.” 

“B-but…” 

Farrier pointed to the door. “ _Now_.” 

Collins sighed, looking dejected before taking his order. Grumbling the whole way about ‘grouchy old men’ or something of the sort. Not that Farrier cared much. Just as long as he could have some silence for a moment. Usually Collins had kept _somewhat_ to himself. Why he was being as annoying as he could today, well, it was beyond him. 

And it didn’t end on the ground, either. Because apparently, his message didn’t get through that thick skull of his. 

“So, Pops, may ay ask when we’re going on a real mission?” 

“Fortis 2, what did I say about that, earlier?” 

“Say about what?” 

“About calling me that.” 

“You said ay couldn’t call you _Pa_. Never said ay couldn’t call you Pops.” 

“Fortis 2, please address Fortis 1 properly while we are airborne, thank you,” Ive’s voice crackled over the speaker. 

“My apologies, Fortis Leader. And, uh, Fortis 1. My apologies to you too.” 

“Hn.” 

“Keep your eyes open,” Ives continued on. “On your surroundings and your fuel gage.” 

“I’m at 63 gallons, sir,” Collins said. 

“59,” Farrier said next. 

“59? That’s four gallons difference.” 

“I’m aware of that, Fortis 2. Thank you for your much needed input on the matter.” 

“I filled Billie up before we left.” 

Farrier felt this itch behind his eyes and was truly starting to understand why Norwood (good ol’ docile Norwood) had finally snapped. “Yes. And I filled up before we left as well, _Fortis 2_.” Then, he paused. “...Billie.” 

“Yes. Your plane doesn’t have a name?” 

“No. No, it doesn’t.” 

“That’s a shame, Fortis 1. Every pilot should name his plane. She’s a part of you. The only woman in your life who will be more important is your mother.” 

“And your wife, I would hope.” 

“A very close third.” 

“I’m sure your girlfriend appreciates that sentiment, Collins.” 

“They understand.” 

“ _T_ _hey_ …” 

“Focus, boys, focus,” Ives said. “Farrier, you’re flight lieutenant now, remember? Don’t get distracted.” 

“Apologies, sir,” he narrowed his eyes at the plane at his side. That  _Billie_. 

“Oh, lieutenant?” Collins said. “Most impressive.” 

Farrier sighed. “You already know I’m lieutenant, Collins.” 

“Ye, but I never congratulated you on it. Guess our conversations have to take a more serious tone, sir.” 

“They already should. We’re in the air.” 

“Right, right. Sorry. Ay’m just so starstruck by your presence that ay can barely contain myself,” then he started that damn sniffing, again. “What til ay tell me mum,” followed by a series of _giggling_ and now Farrier couldn’t help but chuckle too, though it was really more out of exasperation than anything. 

“Fortis 2, do you want me to send you back to base?” Ives asked. 

“No, no, sir. Ay’ll stop. Promise. Finally got the ol’ bloke to laugh." 

Farrier squinted, but didn’t comment on that. 

When they landed, Collins was the first to jump out of the plane, by taking to the wing like a sliding board. Then hopping around and hissing when he landed too hard on his feet. 

“You alright, there?” 

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, ay’m good. You?” 

“Yeah,” Farrier removed his mask and began to make work of the gloves. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Collins shrugged. “Ya seemed down for a bit." 

“Mm. Did I?” he didn’t _think_ he was acting any different than before... 

“Yeah. All blue, y’know? Blue’s not a good color on you.” 

“I wasn’t ‘blue’.” 

“Oh. Well ay thought you were. Sorry. About Bradbury. Didn’t know ‘em, but ay heard a lot about him. Seems like a good man. Er, _was_ a good man…” he trailed off. 

Farrier paused, furrowing his brow at the glove that was halfway off his hand. Was _that_ why he was being so...whatever the hell today? 

“You were trying to make me feel better?” 

“Yeah.” 

“All the bad jokes?”

 “They weren’t _bad_ jokes.” 

“And not making up your bed was...what exactly?” 

“Uh...that one was real.” 

Farrier shook his head with a smirk. Collins immediately went to the defensive, “It escapes me! Ay don’t know how to get the wrinkles out of those thin sheets! Drove me ma crazy, too.” 

“Mm, well, that can be worked on,” he glanced up at the boy. Tempted to smile, ruffle his hair, _something_. “We’ll go on your first mission next week. Ives had already talked about it. Though, you’ll be pushed back, if you don’t behave yourself, so don’t josh around so much up there. Allright?” 

A sigh, “Yes sir.” 

“I’ll need you and...er…’Billie’ by my side, so don’t screw it up.” 

A small, lopsided smile escaped Collins lips. “I won’t.”

 


	2. Three for a Girl, Four for a Boy

_Feeling disconnected from anything tethered to earth was a well fought for practice when Farrier flew his plane. And after so many years of it, he could immediately bury himself deep in the recesses of his mind. Become a part of the machine. Do your job. All of the disorient, the panic...that would wait until later. During those evening breaks when he would sit in the hangar by himself. That was the only time it was allowed to make a meal of him._  

 _This was different._  

 _He felt seasick. A funny thing to experience when he wasn't touching the waves. A weight in his chest...oh, he couldn’t see straight. He couldn’t...didn’t feel right. To his right, the blazing heat...from a fiery comet splitting through the atmosphere with a plane at its helm. He couldn’t hear a thing from his radio. Maybe it was for the best. But even as he tried to call Bradbury's name, his voice stuck to his throat. Couldn’t spit it out like a kid that just had the scare of his life and was clinging to his mother’s skirt._  

 _He didn’t know how he got to the ground. On a beach lined with trees. Once it might have been beautiful. Might have been if the sand leading up to the gutted metal hadn’t been charred black. Of all his senses, he could smell...the oil, the smoke, the burning flesh. His heart felt like a heavy ball of water thudding around in his chest. It wouldn’t let him breathe. His feet were frozen solid to the sand, like the heat of the fire had melded them there. Over the licks of flames, you could see it. The dead body. The charred skin peeling from bone. He wanted to scream, but his voice collapsed in his throat._  

And yet, waking up wasn’t a production. He opened his eyes to the same blank wall, with the same textures and the same spot of peeling paint in the corner. Inhaling, exhaling, was all uneven and he had to push the sheets and blankets away so his skin could breathe. But it wasn’t so hot. He didn’t scream. And the air was clear. 

Still, he felt a bit ashamed at the thudding in his chest and shaking in his hands. He sat up quickly to rummage through his side table, quietly of course, and latched onto the box of cigarettes. Too bad he didn’t have a bottle of scotch on him. That would have been the better option. He stuck one in his mouth and lit up the tiny corner of his room with the lighter. The lighter. The light. The fire. The comet. The fiery comet which split the atmosphere with the plane at its helm. He felt like he would be sick, but he breathed in the smoke and it simmered in his blood to ease his heart. For a moment, he wrestled with the stubborn window. It finally decided to cooperate, but not without whining about it. He cursed under his breath. It was automatic to check over his shoulder. Sure enough, Collins was stirring. 

“Shhhh,” Farrier said. “I'm sorry.” 

Collins turned over, eyes barely cracked. He muttered something indecipherable and went back to sleep. Good. He didn't feel like answering twenty questions about why he was up, what was he doing, the whole shebang. He was already annoyed at the fact that he _still_ subconsciously expected to see a head of near black hair, instead of those unruly tufts of sunshine blonde. But no, it wasn't Collins’ fault. It wasn't. The man he called his brother was dead and Farrier needed to accept that. It had been a month for fucks sake. 

But either way, he felt some responsibility for the boy. Farrier had told him to go to the nurse, get something for that sleeping problem. They couldn’t let him fly if he kept it up. All bleary eyed and dead to the world. Must have listened to his advice. That or the exhaustion finally got to him, poor thing. Always so eager to be airborne. Like a bird, he was. Never more at home than when he had wings. Farrier was often curious as to what kept him up so much. Never had an accident. Hadn't witnessed death. Not yet. 

But he wasn’t going to ask. He laid back, letting a puff of smoke out from his nose. No, he wasn’t going to ask…

 

**********************

 

“ _Shit_.” 

“What’s wrong?” Collins’ attention immediately turned from his game to Farrier, who could have almost laughed at how worried he looked. Probably would have, had he not been so annoyed. 

Instead of answering, Farrier just held up his aviator jacket for all to see. The arm of it torn at the shoulder, only hanging on by a few stitches. 

“Well damn,” Reynolds shook his head, without taking his focus off the pool table. “An end of an era.” 

The room was full of three. Well now four, he supposed. Matt Reynolds, tall, wiry, with thin brown hair, constantly trying to hustle these cocky youngsters out of their money. Whether that be billiards, cards, betting on horses, what have you, and they fell for it every time. Especially Pruitt. Quincy Pruitt (oh, but don’t you ever call him _Quincy_ ) took to gambling like a damn addict. And Collins just laughed at him, whenever he lost. Saying he needed to learn a thing or two before playing for money. All the while ignoring the fact that he lost almost as much as he did. Farrier tried to warn them. But did they listen? Apparently not. 

“What did y’do to it?” Collins bent over the table, setting up his play. 

“Closed it in the damn door and didn’t notice until it was too late. Had the same one since I joined the RAF. Now it’s ruined.” 

“Farri, it’s a coat!” Pruitt grinned. “You’re acting like somebody killed your dog or something.” 

“It was lucky.” 

“It was time for that awful thing to go,” Reynolds said. “It smelled like sticking your face in a gas tank. It’s a miracle you didn’t catch on fire from standing in the sun too long.” 

“Oh fuck off,” Farrier threw the coat onto the table and picked up a newspaper. “If you broke your rosary beads, you would be the first one running around, squealing about it.” 

“My rosary beads have religious significance. Your coat was just poor taste.” 

“You can have mayne,” Collins said over his shoulder. 

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just-” Farrier sighed. “I’ll just ask Fox for a new one.” 

“Look at you _pout_. What a shame,” Reynolds smirked. Farrier glared over the paper. 

“But what about drills?” Collins said. “Ye always act layk you’re freezing to death if you’re not under a pound of blankets.” 

“Oh good grief, Collins,” Reynolds rolled his eyes. 

“What?” 

“Such a _suck up_.” 

“Ay am not!”

“You _are_ ,” Pruitt piped up. “Why don’t you draw him a bath and make him some tea, while you’re at it?” 

“Oh shut up.” 

Pruitt chuckled and made kissing sounds at him. To which Collins pointed the cue at him like a weapon. 

“Ay donno what the bloody fuck you think you’re insinuating, but-” 

“Collins, _Collins_ ,” Farrier put the newspaper down on his lap. “He’s _teasing_ you. Don’t get so riled up. You just make yourself an easy target.” 

“I know, Collins. I mean, everybody has an itch to scratch,” Reynolds continued right where Pruitt left off. “You’re still young. I get it. You can’t see the girls all the time and Farri does have that _marvelous_ set of lips-” 

He barely ducked in time to miss being hit by a wrench Farrier sent flying in his direction. Collins threw his head back and cackled, right after the look of shock left his face. 

“So, what happened to not getting so rayled up?” he smirked. 

“Oh, he’s had that coming for awhile, now.” 

“You gits are so touchy,” Reynolds grabbed the edge of the billiards table to hoist himself up. “I better watch my back. Wouldn’t put it past you lot to tag team my ass.” 

“Had my aim been better, we wouldn’t need to.” 

“Oi, he’s just stalling, cause he knows ay’m aboot to beat him.” 

“About to beat... _please_!” 

“Then quit fooling with Farrier and play. All that talk over me, when _you’re_ the one noticing his ‘marvelous’ lips, eh?” 

Pruitt laughed as if that was the funniest thing he’d heard in his life. Farrier rolled his eyes and went back to his paper. Despite being surrounded by these rowdy fools, his eyes kept trying to flutter shut and the words on the page blurred. He couldn’t figure out if this was Churchill or the weather, so he let it go. And as his mind played tricks on him like that, he found that part of him was legitimately worried about his damn coat. Some OCD-esque little bug in the brain that turned itself on not long after basic training. Death was a constant, shadowing amongst the trees, the clouds, the buildings. He never could see it, but he could feel it; right on their backs and raising the thin hairs across his skin. So they, how had Bradbury put it? Spit in its face or something like that. Keep it at bay before it sinks its teeth into you? It wasn’t those exact words, but it was why Evans clutched so tightly to his little daughter’s locket. A gift from her on the day he left for base. Reynolds had his multitude of rituals...the rosary his main go to, with a kiss on the cross before take off. He had this thing with “love”, too. ‘Draws too much attention’, he’d say. Which is why he never told his wife he loved her over the phone line or even letters. Pruitt, bless him, he would just latch onto any trinket he could fit in his pockets (most of them from Reynolds). Though one constant was a picture he had of his mom. Collins, though, he… 

Actually, what did Collins do with all that? 

“That bastard is a cheating fool,” Collins plopped down next to him, making the chair’s metal feet grate the floor. Farrier grit his teeth. _That_ bloody woke him up. 

“You’re a talentless hack,” Reynolds smiled. “Don’t blame me for it.” 

“He’s a cheater!” this time Collins had turned to face Farrier as if he expected him to do something. 

“Well, I tried to tell the both of you,” Farrier said. “You keep falling for the same tricks, so what can I do about it?” 

“Don’t worry, Collins,” Pruitt chalked up the cue. “I’ll destroy his reign!” 

“You two are so dramatic. Over damn billiards of all things.” 

“Oh don’t be such a grump, Pa. Hey, let me see the weather.” 

Collins leaned over (just completely in his space for fucks…) and rustled through the pages before he nabbed what he was looking for. Farrier looked him dead in the eye. _Really?_  Which was answered with such a pretty smile, it would make your teeth hurt. Farrier could wonder if he had any concept of social cues, but he was thinking it was more that he didn’t care. Because Collins knew, he just _knew_ he could get away with it. 

“May I go back to my reading in peace?” 

“Who’s stopping ye anyway? Can ay have a cigarette?” 

“Where are yours?” 

“Gone.” 

“Oh, so I’m your auntie now, here to provide you with anything from my purse. Is that it, William?” Farrier went into his pocket and handed the boy a cigarette. 

“You have a purse, Jack?” 

“Very funny. And don’t call me Jack.” 

“Then don’t call me William.” 

Farrier lifted a brow at him. Collins mirrored his expression, but with a quirk at the corner of his lips. 

“Hey Collins, I think you’ve been with us for what, a month now?” Pruitt said. 

“Yeah? So?” 

“Well...I think that’s the longest you’ve been in any squadron, so I wouldn’t piss off someone who outranks me if I were you.” 

“Oh, Farrier knows ay’m teasing him. Doncha? Hmm?” he nudged his arm. 

Farrier grunted and gave the newspaper a shake so it would straighten out from Collins messing about. 

“See? That’s ‘yes’ in Farrier talk.” 

“Is it?” Farrier mumbled. 

“Yeah,” another grin. A puff of smoke. Farrier could’ve smacked him. 

A half hour was what they’d gotten to themselves, before returning to their duties. Farrier only had to grab the dress shirt and jacket for his uniform, while Collins was already dressed. So he did wonder exactly why he was following him back to their room, until he was handed the coat he was promised. Farrier couldn’t let him do it, without making a fuss. Collins just rolled his eyes and shoved it in his arms. It felt...awkward to take another man’s clothes. But he smiled and thanked Collins, anyway. 

“No need,” he waved his hand. “Can’t have our lieutenant freezing to death up there, now can we?” 

“Hell, I couldn’t think of a worse way to go.” 

 _But won’t you be cold?_  was on the tip of his tongue. He decided against saying anything, though. Collins was a grown man and he hardly wore the thing, anyway. Not unless it was truly blistering out. Seems all the vibrant energy thrumming through his bones was enough to keep him warm. 

“Hey, maybe want to pick it up a bit?” Reynolds said, when the two joined them at the hangar. 

“As if you’re one to talk?” Farrier good naturedly shoved him out of his way. 

“Aw, did the little brat give you his coat, after all? How sweet.” 

“Hey, I wouldn’t wear that if I were you,” Pruitt said. 

“And why the hell not?” Collins narrowed his eyes. 

“All your bad luck might rub off on him! Every squadron you’ve been in has had some strange mishap. Why do you think they keep kicking you out?” 

“Because he’s a spoiled kid who doesn’t know how to act,” Reynolds said, dryly. 

“Still...it’s risky, Farri. Really, really risky.” 

“Well, there are ways to counteract that,” Farrier said. 

“Weys...to counteract it…” Collins said. “And just what would _that_ be?” 

Farrier turned around and threw his hand up in a salute. “Good morning, Mr. Magpie! How is your lady wife, today?” 

Both Reynolds and Pruitt barked out a laugh. Collins, though. Collins did _not_ look amused. 

“Did you _really_ fuckin’ do that? Really? Pa, ay thought you were on my side.” 

“I am, boyo. I’m trying to help you out a bit.” 

Farrier ruffled his hair, taking amusement in messing it all up. Collins swatted his hand away. Like hell if he was finished being offended. 

“Yeah, yeah, all this luck bullshit,” he grumped. “Ay’m actually a good enough pilot to make my _own_ luck.” 

The other men groaned and rolled their eyes. 

“Yeah! It’s true! That’s why you need my coat, Farrier. You get that luck rayght from the source.” 

“Oh, just _listen_ to you,” Farrier laughed. “So _cocky_ , this one.” 

“He gets it from you.” 

“He probably does.” 

“I’m sure Taylor felt lucky when his engine randomly went out,” Reynolds smirked. 

“Nothing to do with me,” Collins said. 

“And when that flock of birds got Pauly when he was taking off and ruined his plane. Were those your little cohorts?” 

“You are so full of shit. Every one of ya full of shit.” 

“Can’t take a bit of teasing, little bird?” Farrier said. 

“Yer lucky ay’m not taking my coat back, old man.” 

Farrier put on the tough guy persona. The ‘I don’t need it, anyway’ bit, until he settled into the cockpit and was secretly glad Collins didn’t snag it back. Little bean pole he was, the coat was tight in the shoulders, but it was clean. Clean, without the fresh scent of oil, gas, and machinery. It was...a comfort. He was surrounded by the smell of the boy’s cologne. Something that slowed his heart into a lovely rock-a-bye rhythm like a man safe at home, curled up on a warm Saturday morning. It was nice. 

The clouds were pressed against all sides of the aircraft, today. It was him at Ives’ tail. Collins at his right. Reynolds and Pruitt out in the back. Collins and Pruitt, young and foolish, were very much tired of always wandering about the sky and wanted to escort a bomber or take part in dogfights. He’d knock their heads together if he could. Though the brats might get their excitement soon enough, if this weather had anything to say about it. But, they should be back before the roughness of it rolled in. They were supposed to be, anyway. 

But everything seemed to collapse into hell all at once. Starting when Pruitt rang through everybody’s radio, screeching that he’d been hit. 

Ambush. 

Reynolds was on it, tearing after the German fighter like a bat out of hell, while Collins was trying to calm the panicked boy who was still managing to stay airborne. Ives spit out orders, one by one, and was the next to find a yellow nose peaking in and out of the clouds. 

“Fortis 1…” 

“I’m on it.” 

He gave the hungry engine the gas it craved. His Spitfire growled. Indignant. And she went after the assailant with little prompting. The 109 only gave them a glimpse, every once in a while. Toying with them, the sod. It would be a dance between the two, far from romantic. Two wolves to battle it out. Snapping at each other’s flanks before one built up the balls to sink teeth into flesh. These two loners were in _his_ territory and hell if they thought he was going down. They drifted. Spun left. A hard right. Oh, so this shall be a merry chase? Very well, very well. 

Farrier lined ‘em up. He sent a spray of bullets in the 109’s direction. 

No hit. 

The 109 kept on it, trying to get turned around, so Farrier would be in his sights, instead. Seemed to be young, from the way he flew. Not too much, cause he did know a bit of what he was doing. Farrier bit down on the inside of his cheek. Another spray of bullets. Still, no hit. But not to worry. His prey was going to make a mistake, soon enough. He could feel it. 

“Fortis 1…” Fortis Leader rang in. 

Just one more shot is all he needed. One more shot… 

“Fortis 1, there's one on your tail.” 

What? 

He heard bullets fly by. Yes, right from behind. _Fuck_. 

“Damn,” he turned his head to try to see. 

And then, there was light. Like nothing he had ever seen before, it engulfed his plane like fire. The radio popped loudly in his ear. For a brief moment, he was haunted by the memory of the Spitfire downed in his dream. Dark metal. The heat in his face. The fire. The fire. The _fire_. 

“Fuck!” he tried to tear the hood from his head. Damn, his ear was ringing like mad. “ _F_ _uck_."

He lost his bearings. _Was he going down?_ There was some smoke coming off of his side. With such a violent reaction, it must have been his fuel tank. It had to be, but he wasn't quite careening toward his death or engulfed in flames...Overhead, the yellow nose was hightailing it out of there.  It was Collins that was on him, like a mad guard dog. Posturing and shooting (and getting a little too close, if you'd ask him). One bullet made its mark. One and he left the German to limp off and follow his two mates. His first hit! Farrier couldn't believe it. _His first hit._ Hell, if he wasn't busy trying not to die, he would be soaring with pride. 

But Collins had now slowed down. Drifting. Why? For _him_? And Farrier then realized how much air he’d lost. Shit. Somehow, his engine was still finding it in itself to keep going. So maybe it wasn't as detrimental as he first thought...It was his hands, frozen to the stick in shock. For fucks sake, he should be doing better than this. 

Farrier shakily made the climb to even up some with Collins. His kite was sluggish, but she got close enough to where he needed her to be. The headset was pretty much useless, at this point. It wouldn't have taken long for the rest of them to figure that out, as it seemed. The rain began to tit tat on the metal bodies. Thunder rumbled in the distance. And Collins never left his side. 

Back at base, Farrier was the second to land, just after Pruitt, who'd gotten the worst of it. Farrier’s plane fussed a bit, before making it to the ground. And boy was he glad to finally be there. The ringing in his ear had gotten no better. Now that he was more coordinated, he could work his fingers to loosen the mask and hood. A _little_ bit of shaking, he could deal with. But he withdrew from his plane a bit too fast. Awkward on his feet. Damn it to hell, he almost stumbled. 

The first one to rush by was Reynolds. ‘Bloody fuck, Farrier,’ he’d said. Then looked back and forth between him and Pruitt, who had exited his plane seconds before and was on his knees. Reynolds ran over to him, cursing the whole way. He paused for a second to look back at Farrier, but continued on. Collins was fast approaching, calling his name the whole way. It was murky through his right ear. If this was going to be his new normal, he would surely go insane… 

“Farrier! Are you alright?” 

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm alright.” 

“Are you sure? Damn, ay thought you were going down,” Collins began to wander around the plane. Like he was looking for something. “‘Boot scared those fighters to death, heh. ‘Boot scared us to death, too.” 

Farrier found his brain was having a hard time keeping up with all that was going on around him. He blinked, hoping to rid himself of the fog, but he couldn’t. “Scared the fighters?” 

“Well, yeh. Just lit up the sky, when that layghtning struck. The fucker that went after you, he just spun on his ass and went the other way.” 

“Lightning…” 

“Hey, com’ere. Look.” 

Farrier took a deep breath and rounded the plane where Collins was squatting down. His finger was pointing at a tiny, pinprick of a hole, surrounded by a burn mark. It was a mere few centimeters from his fuel tank. Maybe not even that. He sucked in a shaky breath. For a quick second, his memory drifted to the joke he’d made earlier at Collins' expense. Cause if this wasn’t lucky... 

“Damn, it got you pretty good.” 

“...Yeah...it did…” 

“Pretty cool, ay guess, that you made it outta that without a scratch. Wait til you tell all the others. We’ll hafta call you layghtning now. Or thunder, heh. That's layk stuff of legends, heh, heh.” 

He kept trying to joke, but it all fell flat. Especially with how shiny and bright with fear his eyes were. Doing nothing but counteracting the half assed smile he was holding onto. 

“Should ah,” Farrier cleared his throat. “Should go check on Pruitt.” 

“Yeah,” Collins rose and stuck his hands in his pockets. “We should.” 

Really, to anyone seeing Pruitt’s reaction, you would have thought the boy’s insides were pouring out of him. Reynolds and Ives were both hovering, trying to get him to take a breath. A few others were around, waiting to take him to the infirmary. Precautionary. There wasn’t any blood spilled, atleast. 

“C’mon, kiddo,” Reynolds put his hand on his shoulder. “You did good. You did real good up there. But you have to breathe.” 

“I-I-I _can’t_ ,” he sobbed. 

“I promise you’re alright. See? You made it out of there in one piece.” 

“I think I’m having a h-heart attack.” 

Farrier glanced over Pruitt’s plane. It was blistered by bullet holes. 

“Hey, look,” Collins joined in. “You’re alive, right? We got ‘em off. Just layk ay said we would. Taught ‘em a pretty decent lesson aboot messing with you.” 

“I-I guess...I guess you did.” 

Ives motioned the attendants over to help him up. The poor boy’s face was red and soaking wet. Farrier’s voice stuck in his throat. Burned there, almost. But he managed to pat him on the back for support. He’d like to say it would be okay, but hell if Pruitt wouldn’t be up all night with horrid sorts of dreams for awhile. 

“Farrier,” Ives said. “You too.” 

“Sir?” 

“Go on with them. You need to be checked out, after that.” 

“Honestly, I’m perfectly fine. Didn’t get a scratch, even.” 

“You’ll go or you won’t be flying tomorrow. Your choice.” 

Farrier sighed. He was way too exhausted to argue. Plus, he should probably set a good example for the rest of them.  Sometimes getting extra responsibility was aggravating. He followed the crew wordlessly, with his lips pinned together. Just because he had to go didn’t mean he was going to be happy about it. 

“Ay’ll see you in a bit,” Collins leaned in. And not to let Farrier think he was babying him, added, “Let ya know how Pruitt’s doing.” 

Farrier nodded. Okay, that was fine. He watched Collins follow the others for a brief moment and chastised himself when something in his chest wished he would stick around for a bit. 

The nurse ushered him over to a bed to get the run down, before he could get a word in. He didn't tell her about his ear, lest she decide to keep him longer. A poke here, a tease there, an annoying light in his eyes. He grimaced at that. She laughed and told him, “Atleast you don’t have to deal with any needles, today.” 

That was something he could agree with. 

“Well, you’re free to go,” she smiled. “Can’t say the same about your plane. Not that that’s my area of expertise.” 

“As long as I’m not grounded,” he forced a smile back. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime.” 

He rose up and made his way past the privacy curtain. He forgot he was supposed to stay and wait for Collins, until he was settled in their room. Actually, he was reminded of it when the door opened and he was greeted by a loud yawn and outstretched arms. Collins unbuttoned and peeled away the jacket of his uniform, damp from all the rain, then tore away his shirt and threw himself back first on the bed to wrestle away his pants. Down to his tank top and shorts in less than a few seconds. The first in uniform, the first out. As always. 

“So,” Farrier started. “How’s Pruitt doing?” 

“Well, he’s not having a heart attack, anyway.” 

“I figured.” 

Collins got up and walked across the room, standing in front of Farrier with a somewhat lopsided smile. 

“Still wearing my coat?” 

“Well, the nurse made me take it off and I’d gotten a bit of a chill,” Farrier began to remove it. 

“Oh, just keep it,” Collins sank down next to him on the bed. “It’s fine, really.” 

“You’ll need it, later. Besides, it doesn’t fit me well.” 

“Keep it until you get a new one, then.” 

“If you insist,” he draped it at the end of the bed and was the next to dress down, before grabbing his worn, plaid pajama pants and tangling himself in a blanket. He pawed at his ear discretely, hoping Collins wouldn’t notice. 

“You’re allright, aren’t you? For real, ay mean, not you saying it so we’ll leave you alone.” 

“Yes, Collins. Got a clean bill of health.” 

“Good. But you know, you owe me a drink or something.” 

“Oh, really? May I ask why?” 

“For nearly giving me a heart attack, for one?” 

“You and Pruitt have weak hearts, you know that?” 

“Ha! Come on, now. Ay’m trying to be nice and worry aboot you a bit.” 

“Well,” Farrier chuckled. “I’m here, aren’t I? One more day for the road, I suppose.” 

Collins scoffed, but he smiled. Not one of his cocky or sarcastic grins, but a real smile. He leaned over to briefly drape his arm across Farrier’s shoulders and said, “Well, ay’m glad you made it through, old man. Couldn’t bear it to lose ya so quick.” 

“Mm, you’d be as inconsolable as Pruitt, wouldn’t you?” 

“Now, ay wouldn’t go _that_ far,” he laughed, playfully bumping his knee against Farrier’s. 

And that’s when it hit him. It wasn’t like that lightning bolt. Nothing so dramatic. It was warm, the way he felt when they first took off and he could smell his cologne. It flooded him now, the scent. Off his coat, off of _him_...But it was all bare arms and the way the thin chain carrying his dog tags looked, draped over his bare collar bone. It was all freckles on his shoulders and imagining how soft his skin must feel if so much cloth wasn’t obstructing it on his end. It was pretty blue eyes and pinked lips and oh no, he was in so much trouble, wasn’t he? 

Farrier had to force himself to swallow it down. Damn how he didn’t want to, though. Collins was not the only beautiful man in the air force. It’s not like he’d never noticed before. But that’s all it was, normally. Notice, admire, and move on. This time, he made the dire mistake of indulging it. Imagining for a moment, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him onto his lap. If only to feel his body fit just so against his. Then Collins would settle his chin on top of his head, while Farrier buried his face in his neck and they could just _be_. Oh, how he ached for it. It made his chest hurt. 

But that was the unfortunate case of it. Collins loved the French girl in the bakery, the nurses in the infirmary, the girl back home named Abigail, the girl in London he wrote to, the brunette in red lipstick who served in the WAAF. He could charm almost anyone, the brat he was, with that deceptively sweet, yet fiery nature of his. 

The boy loved women. He didn’t love Farrier. And that was the end of it. 

“I, um,” Farrier rose to his feet. It was getting too crowded between the two. “Is Pruitt still in the infirmary?” 

“No. Probably in his room or something. Ay donno.” 

“Well, I should, um, go see him before I get too comfortable. Y’know.” 

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds good.” 

Farrier immediately put his shoes on and left before anything else could be said. For fucks _sake_ , it was Collins. _Collins_. Of all bloody people…

  
He leaned against the closed door and breathed in and out. It was funny, really. If he thought about it, he hadn’t really been touched like that in awhile. Yes, a knee and an arm around the shoulder. How pitiful was _that_? This plus nearly facing his own demise. It was only starting to truly dawn on him that he was very close to death, today. That’s all it was. That’s all it was. Give it a day and he would forget any of the feelings he’d just had. 

That's all it was...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Farri catchin' feelings, poor baby.  
> I didn't mean to take this long to update, but y'know, life happens (as well as editing about 3 times). I also didn't mean to make it this long, but I had a lot to put in ;D Hope you guys enjoyed it! <3 Fingers crossed I won't make ya wait a whole 'nother month :S
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Also, I'd like to make a sound apology to Jack Lowden and the great nation of Scotland for my poor attempts on that accent.~~


	3. Five for Silver, Six for Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Shows up seven months later with McDonald's*  
> Whoops

_The Spitfire rattled and vibrated and shuddered and shook, like a wasp in a cracked tin can. By this point, it was only sheer willpower keeping her teetering along the air. The Channel below was already slick with oil. Oil and fuel, with small fires dotting it’s coast. It darkened the already gloomy sky stretched out in front of him._

_And he was all alone._

_Farrier didn’t have his voice, again. Something had stolen it. Didn’t know what, exactly; as if it really mattered at this point. Bradbury’s plane was licked with flames, just at the edge of the beach. But unlike last time, the sea was littered with pieces of metal. Ive’s plane, Reynold’s plane, Pruitt’s plane. All dead. All drowned. All sinking into the water._

_Farrier clutched the stick and tried to keep his own Spitfire from losing more altitude. But this feeling glued itself to the inside of his chest. It was too late. Everyone was dead. London was being invaded. It was too_ late _. Better to go down with his men. Yet, something kept him on the beaten path. To try, beyond this hopelessness, to do something worthwhile. Yes, he would be shot down trying to destroy what little of the enemy he could. In his broken, dying plane,_ that’s _how they would end this._

_But, where was Collins?_

_A storm was rearing its ugly head. Hanging over the city and beyond; what was left of a free Europe. Something told him Collins had escaped this mess. He_ would _be the one. Too stubborn to die. Not without a fight, anyway._

_Farrier had to keep going. To find his wing man and save what he could._

_Though, the thought of the rest of them dead in the water weighed down on his shoulders. Bradbury’s body floating on the surface...He would do it for them. For the unarmed civilians. For the innocents. For Collins. He had to do it for them._

_Somewhere in the midst of things, Farrier was faced with a wall of yellow. 109’s, Stukas, and everything else they had in their arsenal. He took a deep breath and pushed the Spitfire forward. Lightning struck behind him._

_He was going to die. But, it would be a good death._

Farrier opened his eyes to the wall stained blue by moonlight. What woke him up this time, he wasn’t sure. Maybe a bullet had hit its mark. A little gift from the dream world Germans.

He took a deep breath and let it out, not quite wanting to check the time. It was probably too near the point of having to leave his nice, warm bed. Besides, dream planes and dream lightning were a lot less fearsome than the real thing. Solely for the reason that one allowed for a second chance and the other didn’t.

Still, the same feeling that had cloaked him in his dream had gone nowhere. Something felt wrong. All the more made worse, when he heard a sound behind him, akin to the panting of a wounded dog. Farrier twisted around, still under the covers. And then, he found the air zapped from his lungs. Collins stood there by his bed, bent over with his hands on his knees. Giving him the full view of blood matted in his once golden head of hair. His arms - that was the worst of it - the skin was blistered, charred _painfully_ red and black. Arms, legs, and when he looked up, his face as well. With ribbons of skin peeling from its place.

Farrier immediately sat up and held his arms out. But should he...should he even touch him? Just the thought of how painful that would be... Not that he had much time to think on it, when Collins fell forward and was pressed to his chest. Leaving blood, skin and the smell of fire all over his white shirt.

“Collins,” Farrier choked out. Barely above a whisper.

So, when his plane had gone missing in his dream, _this_ is where he’d ended up.

“Allright,” Farrier bent to wrap his arms behind Collins’ knees and under his shoulders. He stood up as fast as he could. “Allright, I’m going to...going to get some help. Okay? Just...just keep breathing for me, love. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

As if that would be enough. Collins didn’t even seem to register where he was. Just the sound of the air scraping his throat made Farrier’s own throat hurt. For the first time, he could see the haze that had settled over their room. He had to maneuver a bit to get his hand on the door knob, while keeping Collins in his arms. The metal was burning hot.

 _Okay. Deep breaths_ (or maybe not; that smoke was filling up, fast). Farrier used the tail of his shirt to work the door knob. And right away, the fire blazing on the other side nearly suffocated him. There were vague yells, orders, cries for help beyond where he could see. They were walled in, already. And by the sound of Collins’ breathing, he didn’t have much time.

“Okay,” Farrier said. “Gonna be a tricky one. But don’t worry. Don’t...don’t worry.”

Don’t worry. What a stupid command. There was no way out of there without going through fire. Farrier would shield him best he could, there was no question about that. But Collins wouldn’t survive anymore burns.

 _Give me a way out_ , Farrier thought out. Prayed, in hope. _Something. Someway. Any way._

It was a prayer immediately answered. He heard a person approaching his left, before he saw them. His immediate thought was that they had somehow made a path through this mess. He would hand Collins off to them and send him to safety.

But the person. His uniform...his gun…

Farrier sucked in breath. He made to throw himself back into the room. Though before he could move, he heard the shot. He heard the shot and was thankful that he didn’t feel it hit his head.

And _that’s_ when he woke up. And sat up. And put his hand over his mouth in relief. To keep himself from screaming.

His feet hit the floor before he even knew where he was going. Collins. Collins, there he was. Nestled under his sheets with no knowledge of anything going on beyond his bed. Just as he should be. His hair bloodless and golden. His skin intact. Whole.

He was whole and perfectly fine.

For that, Farrier was thankful, near the point of tears. Still, he went to the door and slowly reached out. He knew there was no fire, but it was still a comfort to feel the chill of the metal, instead of scalding heat. No fire. No smoke. No gunman.

No planes.

No sea.

No comet.

“Farrier?”

Damn.

“Hm?” he hummed innocently. Maybe he could play this off, like he had just come back from the bathroom or something.

“S’wrong?” Collins rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Nothing.”

“It’s layk,” he squinted at the clock. “Three something. Why’re ye up?”

“Oh, so you’re in charge of my sleep now?” Farrier snorted. Amused. “I thought I heard something.”

“Mff. What was it?”

“Nothing, so go back to sleep. You know how hard it is for you to get up in the morning.”

“It’s already mornin’ and you woke me up,” Collins turned over to bury himself deeper into the covers. Farrier rolled his eyes. He went back to his own bed. His own corner of the room, where there were no fires. No sound, except for their breathing and the ringing in his ear.

No smoke. No gunman.

No sleep.

 

*************************

 

Farrier tried to hide a yawn, when Norwood passed by with a higher ranking officer that he’d never seen before. Hopefully the dark circles that were appearing under his eyes weren’t as noticeable to others as they were to himself. After this whole bit, he hoped he could take a nap before they went up. He lifted his cap long enough to scratch at his forehead. Right where the hat kept irritating the skin. Fuck this. Spending an extended amount of time in full uniform was irksome, at best.

The nightmares weren’t letting up. It seemed that every time his head hit the pillow, he was plagued by them. Whether it was seeing Bradbury’s burning body over and over and _over_ or seeing any of his other mates die. His mind had even cruelly re-written Pruitt’s plane being peppered with bullets. Instead of him being fine (physically, anyway), they would find him dead and bleeding in the cockpit.

Eventually, Farrier would give up on sleep and slip off into the hangar. To busy himself by reading or tinkering with something. Once, Collins - just out of nowhere - wordlessly offered up one of the sleeping pills the nurse had given him. (Farrier made a fuss, but it’s not like he didn’t end up taking it). Funny, he thought he’d been mostly quiet enough, when he woke up.

Well, atleast he was looking out for him. He wouldn’t lie, it warmed his heart a little.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Lightning, himself,” Pauly popped up behind him and clasped his shoulder.

Farrier frowned. “Did Collins have something to do with that nickname or was it Pruitt?”

“Hell if I know what those little bastards are up to. Straighten up. Want to make a good impression here, right? Seeing as how things are going for you, you’ll end up as a squadron leader, before you know it.”

“Mmhmm.”

Pauly considered him for a moment. “Are you alright?”

“I’m perfect, actually.”

“Really, mate? Cause, you don’t look it.”

Well, that was great. It was likely that everyone else could tell too, if that was the case.

“I’m a little tired, is all,” And anxious and stressed out and lovelorn. But it’s not like he needed to know all of the details.

“Need something for it?”

“See, that’s more or less what I’m trying to avoid.”

“Better than a crash. You’ll be lucky if Ives doesn’t keep you out of formation, if you don’t do something about it.”

Farrier sighed. That’s exactly what he had told Collins and it was irritating him to have it directed back to himself.

“Tell ya what,” Pauly continued. “I’ll take you out for a drink tomorrow. Might help out?”

He thought about it for a moment. Well, it was the weekend, right? He could put aside his plans of doing mostly nothing for a drink or two. He supposed.

“Sure.”

“Right,” Pauly smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Sounds like a plan!”

Farrier nodded and smiled back. There was little, he guessed, that alcohol couldn’t fix. Or atleast hold over until a solution could be met. At best, acting normal would keep anyone from suggesting those amphetamines for his consistently sleepy state. They worked, sure, but he hated how they made him feel.

He sighed and glanced at his watch. Time was apparently going nowhere, today. Off to the side, he could hear Pruitt talking (rater loudly) to Collins. Maybe he should join those two. If anything, they could provide some quality entertainment, until he could get out of this damn uniform.

That’s when he noticed Collins’ eyes glued to him. Completely ignoring Pruitt, who was none the wiser and certainly hadn’t stopped yammering. Farrier cocked an eyebrow at him.  _What?_ was on the tip of his tongue. But before he could speak at all, Collins’ eyes widened a tad, like he had just been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. Farrier blinked. What was that all about?

It was easy to see the wheels in Collins’ head spinning, before he smiled innocently and walked over.

“So, ye decided ta dress decently for a change?”

“Only because they made me.”

That elicited a laugh from Collins. “Eh, to be fair, ay don’ think ay could pull off the rugged guy in the aviator jacket look.”

“So what, are you saying I’m not pulling off the dress blues very well?” Farrier smirked. “Is that why you were gaping over there?”

“Gaping. Ay was making sure that Norwood wasn’t heading over to knock our heads together, as loud as that fool is,” he nodded toward Pruitt, who was trotting in their direction.

“Collins!” Pruitt said. “You just up and left me! I looked like I was talking to myself like an idiot.”

“Sorry, sorry. Ay was just so shocked to see Farrier all gussied up ay had to come over an’ make sure ay wasn’t having a stroke.”

Farrier opened his mouth to say something, but just chuckled instead. _Oh, so you like a man in uniform?_ he wanted to say. As if that would go over well.

“Good thing you did,” he opted for, instead. “I believe I forgot to give you a salute before we got out here.”

“Whelp! Guess it’s time ta take my leave!” Collins walked away as fast as he could.

Farrier put his hand up to the brim of his hat. “Good morning Mr. Magpie!”

“Stop that!” Collins broke into a run. Pruitt laughed and went after him, making jokes the whole way.

“Collins! Pruitt!” Norwoods’ voice came from somewhere off to the right.

The boys slowed down, with Collins throwing that winning smile of his over his shoulder. Before they went off, his eyes caught Farrier’s once more. Just for a second before he looked down.

Farrier felt his heart flutter incessantly, before he scolded himself. Were Collins’ cheeks turning a tad red? Probably. The boy couldn’t move without flushing somewhere. Besides, the sun was high in the sky and it wasn’t exactly the best of buddies with Collins’ pale skin.

 _Don’t read into it_ , he told himself. It was hard not to look for something that wasn’t there.

 

*************************

 

“So, who is he?”

Farrier downed the rest of his beer and refused to look in Pauly’s direction until he was completely out. Pauly was nothing short of amused. It was so annoying.

“What exactly makes you think there’s a ‘he’?”

“Because I know you and you’re not as good at hiding things as you think you are?”

“Hmf,” Farrier put the glass back up to his lips as if that would magically refill it past a few liquid beads.

“You want me to get that for you?”

“I can pay for my own. Thank you, though.”

“Look, I’m not gonna try to have you go to bed with me. Just let me get you another, so you don’t embarrass yourself licking the glass.”

“Well, I won’t twist your arm.”

Pauly chuckled and asked the bartender for another drink for his poor, hapless friend, here. Something stronger. He needed it. Farrier silently agreed. It’d been a gloomy day enough for him. Besides, it was Saturday. Live and let live, or whatever. Atleast Pauly understood this particular part of his struggles. He was far from the only one at base who shared Farrier’s interest in men, but he was the only one Farrier regularly spent time with, after he’d stumbled into him at this very bar about a week after he first joined the RAF. A young, slightly traumatized eighteen year old who sputtered and apologized and was probably about to cry, until Pauly laughed and had to remind him of the reason why _he_ was there as well. He was always so confident about it, too. The others mostly knew of Pauly’s sexuality and he always had this _and what about it_ air, when it came to the matter. Despite the way some folks would talk about him like there was something wrong with him.

Farrier wished he were that bold, but his father had managed to scare it out of him.

The higher ups tolerated it for the most part...the safety of Britain was the priority, there. But it always made Farrier so _nervous_ . _You know how people are, they’ll turn on you without a moment’s notice._

“Here, take it,” Pauly said now. He handed Farrier the drink, which was much darker than the one he’d already chugged down. “Drown your sorrows or whatever you need to do. Tomorrow’s a new day and all that.”

Farrier nodded and tried not to gulp this one whole.

“Oughta atleast let me set you up with somebody. If you don’t want to mix work and love, I know a bloke that wanders in here from time to time. Works at that bank on the corner, I think. He’s very nice. Very handsome, too.”

“I’d really rather not.”

“So what? Are you going to stay alone for the rest of your life? Move to the hills when you retire and become a monk?”

Farrier sighed, fogging up the glass and throwing it back, until it was half empty.

“Sheesh, whoever this guy is, he has you pretty messed up, doesn’t he?”

“Hardly.”

“Which one? You know I won’t tell.”

“Oh,” Farrier leaned back into the chair and stared at the many shades of brown bottles on the shelf behind the counter. “Blonde hair, blue eyes, kind of leggy, personality of a wild horse…”

Pauly squinched his eyes in thought. Then he looked positively exasperated. “Please tell me you’re not talking about Collins.”

“Mm.”

Pauly laughed. “ _Farrier_.”

“I know, I know.”

“A little young for you, isn’t he?”

“I’m only thirty. Why is everyone so quick to put me in the grave?”

“Seriously, though. _Collins?_ I thought you had better taste than that.”

“He’s sweet.”

“He’s _sweet?_ ”

“Sometimes.”

“He’s ‘sweet’. He’ll run you ragged, is what he’ll do.”

“Well, he tries.”

“I had to put him out after he was in our squadron for a week. A week, Jack! And somehow you’ve gone off and fallen for him. What happened?”

“I wish I could tell you.”

“Okay. He’s kind of cute in his own way, I’ll give you that. But he’s flighty and immature and come on, let me find you somebody who’s more on your level. And actually into men.”

“I could die tomorrow. I’m not exactly looking to settle down.”

“Hell, Jack. We all could die tomorrow. That doesn’t mean you should stop living.”

“Me not wanting to marry your banker friend doesn’t mean I’ve stopped living.”

“It’s not just that, mate. It’s a lot of things. For one, this wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been pining after someone who’s out of reach. Seems to be a pattern, almost.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you had a degree in psychology, now.”

Pauly chuckled and patted him on the shoulder.

“Farri, Farri, I’m almost forty years old. Maybe listen to your elders every once in awhile, hm?”

Farrier grunted. “I’ll think about it.”

And for a bit, back in his room, he almost considered letting Pauly push him toward that nameless banker. But it was gone, just like that, because life was unfair and he didn’t see a good enough reason to bother him with this, when he knew his heart was balled up in the hands of that blonde Scot. Whether that blonde Scot knew it or not.

He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

He was positively oblivious while sitting on his bed, writing away to Abigail. After having written one letter to his youngest sister and another to his Ma. It was getting late. Just how many pages was he writing to her? What exactly had been going on all week that constituted a small book’s worth of events? Because Farrier couldn’t think of any.

“Can ay have a cigarette?” Collins asked.

“No.”

“No?” Oh, that got his attention away from the letter. And he even had the nerve to pout about it. “Why?”

“Because I only have one left? Mostly because you smoked most of my last box?”

“No?”

“Yes you did,” Farrier grumped. Lying with his back to the bed and tossing a balled up scrap of paper up and down. Catching it, then throwing it again, because he needed something to do with his hands. “Down to the very last one, because rations, apparently, mean nothing to you.”

“Geez, sorry, Pa.”

“Sorry. Sorry, you say. Three days I have til I can get more and all he has to say is sorry.”

“Okey, okey. Ay’ll buy ye some. You did give them to me on yer own, _Sir_. But sure, ay’ll buy ye some, so you don’t snap my head off like a pissy mare, for cryn’ out loud.”

“Well, don’t forget, Maggie,” Farrier tossed the paper ball to Collins side of the room, where it hit him on the head. He swatted at the air like a cat. “It’s near lights out, anyway. So finish up what you’re doing there, so you can go to sleep.”

He caught Collins’ glare at the corner of his eye. Didn’t quite catch what he mumbled to or about him. Nothing good, whatever it was. Farrier didn’t care because the scrubbing of the pen to the paper was going to drive him up the wall before anything else did. His eyelids were heavy, his stomach hurt, and he could almost snap that pen.

He  _had_ snuck a bottle of some rather throat scorching alcohol into their room for any late night horrors, when he found his cigarettes were low. Damn if he got in trouble for it (he wouldn’t, he was careful). He didn’t want to be up at all hours with the shakes for not having anything to ease his nerves.

“Are you done?” Farrier later asked. “I would like to go to sleep at some point, tonight.”

“Sure. M’done.” Collins flipped the light off and was all tight lipped while he dumped the papers on the side table. He was absolutely precious when he was cross, but Farrier was too annoyed to dwell on that now.

Though when he woke up, he felt...kind of bad. He had some business to tend to after breakfast, but he found Collins again, just outside the hangar while they all waited to see if the weather would permit any flights. It was cold, that day, plus the clouds were hanging their heads low. Collins was tightly wound in his coat. Studying something in his hand, but he put it back in his pocket before Farrier sidled up to him. Normally, Collins would tease him for wearing his many layers, along with the scarf that threatened to swallow him whole. This time, he just nodded a hello.

“Good morning Mr. Magpie,” Farrier saluted him. “How’s your lady wife, today?”

Collins rolled his eyes.

“Sleep well?” Farrier asked.

“Ay s’pose,” Collins shrugged.

“Mm,” Farrier lit the cigarette that Pruitt had nicely handed over. “You’re mad at me?”

“Nah.”

“Of course not.”

“What? Ye think ay’m lying?”

“A little.”

“Hmf.”

“I’m sorry I was a bit snappy, yesterday.”

“Yer addicted to those damn things,” Collins pointed to the cigarette in his hand.

“Mm,” Farrier glanced up. Suddenly caught by those startling blue eyes. “I guess you could say that.”

He leaned against the wall, letting go of a puff of smoke. “Kind of under a lot of stress, lately. Still, no excuse. I should never take it out on you. Or any subordinate, really.”

“Yeah, ay’m the only one you do that to.”

Farrier narrowed his eyes. Almost a wince. “I really am sorry.”

Collins shrugged. “S’fine, really.”

“No it’s not.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, no other Flight Lieutenant ay know would’ve ever apologized for that.”

“First time for everything.”

“True,” Collins pulled out whatever was in his pocket again and started fiddling with it.  “True.”

“What _is_ that?”

“What is what?”

“In your hand,” Farrier pointed at it. “You keep taking it out of your pocket.”

“Oh, that. Well, ah…”

He held his hand open. In the middle of his palm was a rather ornate looking ring. Polished silver with a diamond set at the center. Farrier raised both eyebrows. That had to be expensive.

“Ah, don’t think it’s a good idea to just have that out,” Farrier said.

“Eh, ay didn’t know ay had it on me, til ay put may coat on, this mornin’.”

“Why do you have it, anyway? Looking to settle down?”

“Mm, well...that’s kinda the purpose of it.”

Farrier nodded. He figured. Why else would he have a ring out there? He breathed in, to ease the pang in his chest. “So, uh, which unfortunate bird of yours agreed to this?”

“Ha! None of’m. Hadn’t asked. And who says she’d be unfortunate, anyway? Hm?”

“Wellllll, when you cause a stink in your tiny, Scottish town as a few women show up to your wedding party with blonde babies you didn’t know about…”

“Very funny. Ay’m more careful with that than you think ay am.”

“That so?”

“Yeah, that's so,” Collins playfully bumped into his side.

“So you don’t want to settle yet,” Farrier treaded. “And yet you have an engagement ring because…?”

“Me Ma gave it to me. Some family heirloom. Had marriage on the brain when ay was with Abbi but, well…” he trailed off. “Guess ay forgot to put it somewhere safe. Here, brought it all the way over to England. She’d kill me if she knew ay had it out.”

Farrier slowly nodded, a quirk forming at the corner of his mouth at one of the many mentions of Collins’ ma. She seemed so doting. He sometimes wished the world was different, so he could follow Collins home one day and be known to his family, his Pa, his Ma, and three little sisters, as his and his only. And they would welcome him with open arms the same way they would for miss _Abbi_.

“But, y’know,” Collins continued. “Don’t really want to think on all that now. None of the girls ay wrayt to are really paying marriage much maynd yet, either. Though some of them, their parents keep pushing them to. Outta the damn womb, almost, to find some bloke to have a baby with and such. Don’ even pay attention that the bloke might be blown ta bits a day later. And then what? Now there she sits with all the babies by herself.

“True. That’s a, um, good way to put it.”

And weirdly mature thinking for him, but Farrier kept that one to himself.

“Yeh. So, ay figured ay’d do layk you, right?”

Farrier blinked. Do like him? “Ah...right?”

Collins laughed. “Aren’t ya waiting, then? Til after all this is over? You don’t really seem to go after the birds very much.”

Oh, was it that obvious? “I do alright.”

“Do you? You could’ve had me fooled, then,” he grinned. Cheeky little bastard. “Besides,” his grin faltered a bit. “Ay don’ think...ay don’ think the person ay really want would want me much, anyway.”

Farrier’s brows knit together. “What makes you say that?”

“Eh...ay donno. Just a feeling, really.”

“Did you ask her?”

“Mmm...no. No, ay didn’t ask.”

“Don’t you think you should?”

Collins shrugged. “Not that simple. Ay wish ay could just ask, but…”

Farrier put his hand on Collins’ shoulder. He could’ve sworn he felt him lean into his touch. “Well, I’m not going to pretend to know how to fix that. But you’re a pretty decent man. She’d be lucky to have you. And if she decides against it, well, there will be someone out there that truly loves you.”

“Maybe,” then Collins smiled again. “ _Only_ pretty decent?”

“Welllll, you have quite a strong personality,” Farrier ruffled his hair.

“Hey, hey. And now you go mess up may hair on top of it?”

“Eh, you need a haircut anyway, before Norwood sneaks into our room one night with the clippers.”

“Thanks for the nightmares.”

Farrier laughed.

But that wasn’t the end of it, really. Farrier was finding more and more stress the further along he went as lieutenant. Most people wouldn’t know it by looking at him, which he considered himself lucky for. He was as steady as a pilot could be. Despite being exhausted. Despite pacing around alone at night because Germany was a formidable enemy who was breathing down their necks. Despite the fact that he felt so young behind the controls with more responsibility than he felt he could handle. A lot of men at base held him in high regard. Lightning this and Lightning that. He felt they had all lost their minds.

Collins, on the other hand, he had no idea what was going on with him. For the sake of his own mental health, Farrier tried to ease away from him as much he could, outside of saluting him every morning. Seeing him at breakfast. And lunch. Dinner. Living together. Flying next to each other. Easy, right?

He kept it cordial, but they didn’t talk as much as they used to. And lately, Collins was having quite a few screw ups, in the air. Stuff he'd never had trouble with, before. Farrier felt he and Ives were always having to get onto him for something or another. Especially Farrier himself, because he couldn’t keep his eyes off of him to make sure he wasn’t about to get himself killed. Every flight was anxiety ridden. Flashes of Collins’ burned body in his arms would pop up at the most inopportune times. The two of them fought constantly (‘I’m a grown man, Farrier!’ - ‘Well, how about you bloody act like it?’) to the point where they nearly got themselves grounded. And for the first time since Farrier had known him, Collins was constantly sullen and _quiet_ . He put aside his feelings to try to talk him out of whatever had him so out of sorts. But that wasn’t working. Nothing was. They were all out of sync and probably close to a crash and burn. Great impression, they were making.  _Great_ impression.

“You’re getting distracted,” Pauly had said to him, once. “You need to figure out how to settle whatever feelings you have for Collins, before both of you boys find yourselves dead.”

And just how was he supposed to do that? Drinking it off didn’t help. Neither did sleeping with anybody else. Distractions were far from being distracting enough. It was as if Collins and Bradbury had melded into the same person. And Farrier was so obsessed with making sure the same, ugly end didn’t fall upon his new wing mate, he could hardly focus on anything else.

One night a dinner, he got his chance to...do what, exactly? Try to settle things, without saying too much? Collins had paused near him, on his way to eat with Pruitt. Said that Norwood was griping about his hair getting too long and asked, “Will you cut it for me, later?”

“Uh,” Farrier slowly chewed on a bite of food. “Sure. Yeah, when we get back to our room.”

Collins frowned. “Ay mean, you don’ have to. Or _feel_ like you have to. Ay just...its kaynda hard to get it all on my own. Ye know what? Ay’ll just ask Pruitt to do it. Pray he doesn’t cut my whole head off, atleast. Or...yeh, that’s a bad idea. Ay’ll ask Reynolds to do it, and…”

“Collins...I said I would do it, right?”

“Heh, rayght, rayght.”

Farrier squinted. Was it him or was Collins getting a bit flustered? Though if he was, it wasn’t in a good way. Not the way Farrier would have liked for him to be.

It wasn’t a deterrent, atleast. Collins settled into the chair in their room after they’d finished eating. But his vocabulary was mostly tight smiles and sighs, with a singular ‘don’t cut may hair _too_ short’, when Farrier got the clippers and comb out.

“Allright, lean your head down, a bit,” Farrier said, right after draping him with a spare sheet. “Don’t want to nic you by accident.”

“Mhm.”

“Will have to make quick work of it, though. Getting late.”

“Yeh. Ay can still ask for somebody else to do it, since you seem to be...busy.”

“I’m not busy. Except for this.”

“Well, maybe not busy. Maybe layk, want to be busy with something else.”

Farrier began to run the comb through his hair. “Don’t be silly.”

“Am ay being silly? Cause ay don’ think ay am…”

“I’m just…”

“Tired. Yeah, ay know.”

Farrier blinked. It felt like something was twisting up inside of him. _Oh, he’s suspicious, now_. “Collins, is something bothering you?”

“Ah...no. Nothing’s bothering me.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re a bad liar?”

All he got for that one was a scoff. Well, he wasn’t going to push. He turned on the clippers and let the bits of blonde fall to the floor.

“It’s just…”

“It’s just what?”

“If ay get kicked out of this squadron, that’s probably it for me, huh?”

Farrier turned the clippers off. “What did you do?”

“Huh? Nothing!” Collins turned around so Farrier could get the full effect of his bright, innocent eyes.

“Then why do you think you’re getting kicked out?”

“Um,” he frowned, deeply. “Considering the past two weeks, ay can’t imagine why the lot of you would want me here. Besides, yeh seem mad at me.”

“Mad? Collins, just because you get chastised a bit, doesn’t mean I’m mad at you.”

“It’s not just that. You don’t trust me as a pilot period.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? You say ay’m good at it, but when we’re in the air, you keep treating me layk ay’m a first time flight student.”

“You have the tendency to get ahead of yourself up there, sometimes. Pointing that out doesn’t mean I don’t trust you as a pilot.”

“You don’t do that to Pruitt. You don’ even do that to the kids they just recruited. Now ay...ay donno, ay feel layk ay can’t get it together up there. Because every time ay _move_ you criticize me. Yer always rayght on my back, layk you’re babysitting me.”

“Collins…”

“And y’know, ay do layk to annoy you, sometimes. But ay get the feeling you don’ even want to be around me, anymore.”

“I think you’re reading into some things a bit too much.”

“Am ay? Everyone other higher up in the RAF wants to get rid of me. Why not just put the nail in my coffin, then? Ship me back to Scotland and let me be an embarrassment. Dishonorably discharged from the air force. That’ll go over well, ay’m sure.”

Farrier sighed, putting his hands on his hips. Collins wasn’t even looking at him, anymore. Shit, he had to fix this.

“Collins,” he wandered around to the front of the chair. “Look, the last thing I want to do is have you discharged from the RAF. You’re my wing man and you’re a great pilot. Okay, you've had a few misses, the past few days, but overall I’m happy to have you here. I think I lucked out, actually, with Norwood sticking you over here. Now I can rub it in Evans’ and Pauly’s faces that I have this great pilot that they could have had.”

Collins sighed deeply. “Ay hear you. But ay don’t see it.”

“Okay. Okay, you know what? That is one hundred percent my fault for putting my own fears on you. I was Bradbury’s wing man for years. Losing him was like losing a limb. Like losing my heart. I considered him my older brother and losing someone who was like family when my own family basically threw me out was hard. It’s still hard and it will be til the day I die.”

Collins nodded sympathetically. Still staring at the floor.

“When you lose someone like that,” he continued. “It screws you up a bit. Allright? You’re barely in your twenties. You have so much life ahead of you. I don’t want you to end up burned to death on a beach somewhere or bleeding out because some bastard snuck up on you and shot you clean out of the air. I like that you have so much fight and fire in you. I love it, actually. But Collins, you need to be careful up there.”

Collins nodded again, very slowly. Farrier wished he would look up. It was unsettling for him to be so subdued.

“As for the rest of it, well. I’m just an old grouch who needs some alone time or I become even more of a grouch. I’m not trying to get away from you or anything. I rather like your company, to be honest.”

“Really?” he muttered.

“Yes, really,” he patted his shoulder. “And you should know by now, I don’t just compliment for the fun of it. I really mean it.”

He could see a hint of a smile growing on Collins’ lips. That darling, beautiful smile.

“Besides, you’re my good luck charm. Remember, Maggie?”

Collins groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after the...fifth rewrite? Yeah, I had a lot of trouble with this chapter for some reason. Like I couldn't get it to flow right or something. Still feels a bit off, but this is about as happy as I'll be with it. Atleast I got about 20+ pages of these two up for you guys to make up for it, right? Last chapter should be up soon :)


	4. Seven for a Secret Never to be Told

“Good morning, Mr. Magpie. How’s your lady wife, today?”

Collins looked at Farrier with a frown on his face. “Not too well, to be quayte honest. She was shot dead bay a rogue pack of German soldiers. They took everything we had and torched the farm, the scoundrels.”

Farrier scoffed. Then, laughed. “Wow.”

“The funeral is next week. You’re invayted, ay s’pose,” he took a sip of tea from the tin cup he’d decided to bring along. “Oh and ay’m expecting a gift too, bay the wey. Something food related preferably, so ay don’ starve ta death.”

“I’m not buying a gift for your fake wife’s funeral, you vulture.”

“Then  _ please _ let this joke die already, Pa. Ay’m beggin’ you. It’s gotten  _ so _ old.”

“Oh but see, dear Collins, I’m sorry to tell you that good luck rituals here are no joke.”

“Give it a rest, old man.”

Farrier ignored him. “It is absolutely integral to the safety of ourselves, our comrades, and our nation to repeat them as much as deemed necessary. Did you not go over the safety handbook or do I need to read it with you?” 

“Aye, fuck off.”

Farrier chuckled and elbowed him in the ribs. Collins swatted his hand away, but he was still wearing a smile.

It was early on a Sunday. Bitter, bitter cold, and even that didn’t stop Farrier from going on his walk. His ‘spot’, a nice little green park that wasn’t far from base. It was getting a nice set of  fall colors, now. Something to enjoy from deep inside the fur lining of his coat. He used to come out for some peace. To be by his bloody damn self for his mental health’s sake (he wasn’t fully lying to Collins, when he’d said he needed alone time).

Oh, but Collins, as soon as he got the green light that Farrier  _ didn’t _ actually hate him, he felt the need to follow him everywhere. He was close to changing his nickname to Shadow, if he didn’t stop this nonsense. But Farrier couldn’t even say he hated his presence. Especially because he was so easy to tease (he found his reactions quite funny).  On one hand - their relationship, he supposed he could call it - was cold. It was twinges in his heart. Aches to reach out and hold his hand (only to know he couldn’t and better not dare). Feelings of jealousy whenever one of his lady friends were brought up… On the other hand, it was warm. They were starting to know each other better. To read each other as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The two of them didn’t even have to talk to enjoy the other’s presence. Just being side by side was nice. Comfortable. Yes, Collins was what Farrier thought of when he felt it. He was  _ comfortable _ . The one and true definition. And considering the war, the seasonal chill, the uncertainty of everything,  _ that _ was the best thing he could ever be.

Besides, after Collins’ reaction to Farrier pushing him away, it’s not like he was going to repeat that. He didn’t want to see him so bothered and hurt. Especially not because of something  _ he _ did.

So, he put all of his feelings to the side and let the boy follow him to the park. And anywhere else he wanted to go.

“Think we’ll get snow, soon?” Collins glimpsed at the somber sky. “Daw wrote back and said they’d gotten a little bit, back home.”

“I don’t know. Just seems like a cold snap. Nothing much else.”

“Yeh, maybe. Ay hope it does, though. Ay love the snow.”

“Do you?”

Collins nodded. “Yup. Ay think Pruitt’ll be happy too, if it gets bad enough.”

“He likes snow too, huh?”

“Ay donno. He’s just happy when we get grounded.”

“That’s,” Farrier thought about the last time he found Pruitt hyperventilating just outside the hangar before they had to go up. It wasn’t even that long ago. “That’s not good.”

“Ay mean, he’s fine with flying,” Collins scrambled. “It’s just the, uh, whole getting in the mayndset before we take off or whatever. Y’know?”

“He needs to talk to somebody.”

“He talks ta me.”

“Somebody with more knowledge in the area, Collins.”

“Well, ay’m his friend. Can’t beat that.”

Farrier chuckled and shook his head.

“What? Ay think Billie and ay face the enemy pretty steadily. Ay have plenty of knowledge in the area.”

“That’s not the sort of knowledge I meant. Silly.”

“Well, good luck with faynding  anybody else for him ta talk to. He clams up more than you.”

“I don’t  _ clam up _ .”

“Oh, so yer sleeping problems aren’t for some secret reason, after all.”

Farrier glared at him. “Hush.”

Collins quickly put his hands up. “Ay’m just saying! Ay live right next to ye, y’know. Ay don’ bite.”

“Not as if you go around talking about why  _ you _ have sleeping problems. Besides, I pretty much already told you why.”

“Ye did?”

“Some therapist you are.”

“When did ye tell me that?”

“Bradbury’s crash. Worrying about your crazy arse getting killed. It wasn’t even long ago that I told you.”

“Oh.  _ Oh _ ,” then he cocked his head. “Ye dream aboot me?”

Farrier sighed and buried deeper into his coat, before he could feel his cheeks getting hot. “Don’t flatter yourself. Besides, lots of the guys at base end up in my dreams for that very reason.”

“Oh. Ay’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

Collins gently patted his shoulder, before putting his free hand back in his pocket. He offered Farrier some of his tea, which he declined. The mood shifted a little too far to the left for his taste. He scrambled for something else to talk about.

“So, uh, hey, you never did say why you named your Spit ‘Billie’.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeh,” Collins then started to swoon. “She’s named after Billie Holiday.”

“The singer?”

“Well,  _ yeh _ . Who else?”

“Huh. Didn’t know you were into jazz.”

“Yeah. Ay’d marry her if she’d have me.”

“That’s adorable.”

“ _ Adorable? _ ”

“Yes,” Farrier grinned. “You and your crush. How sweet.”

Collins huffed at that. “You still haven’t named yours.”

“I wasn’t really planning to.”

“You've  _ got _ to, Pa! She’s the most important woman in yer life besides…”

“Yes, yes, you’ve said that before.”

“Ay’ll help you.”

“Didn’t really ask for help.”

“What aboot yer first girlfriend?”

Oh how bold of him to assume he’d had a first girlfriend. “Nah.”

“Yer Ma?”

“Mm…”

“Well, who’s  _ your  _ favorite singer?”

“Collins...oh, you know what? I’ll name her Maggie. After you.”

Collins mouth was still open from what he was about to say. Farrier almost laughed, when he clamped it right shut and said a firm, “No.”

“But Maggie is such a lovely name.”

“No. It’s. Not.”

“Oh, yes it is. I’m actually excited about it, now. My Spitfire: Maggie.”

“That’s. Not. May. Name.”

“Don’t be silly, William. Perhaps I should have it painted on the side…”

“Why would ye want ta name a plane after me, anyway?” Collins crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow. Like he’d just  _ caught _ him or something. Farrier felt his heart flutter a bit in fear that he  _ had _ indeed been caught.

But Farrier was no blathering fool. He just gave Collins a sly smile and said, “Why else, but for good luck?”

Collins looked to the sky and asked when oh  _ when _ would the Germans put an end to his misery? Farrier laughed and shoved him off of the path. Always so dramatic, his little bird was.

 

******************************

_ Damn _ .

Farrier took a right, reading exactly how the 109 was going to react. This pilot was a ferocious one. A man with no qualms about teasing death, it seemed. However he needed,  _ whatever _ he needed to get the job done, he was going to do. Farrier had to take some time to get twisted back into shape. And then the bastard would have him all turned around, again. What a game this was.

He banked left and took a shot. The other zipped out of the way, going exactly where he didn’t want him to go: toward the bomber.

“You got that, Fortis 2?” Farrier called in his headset.

“Yeh. He’s coming rayght at me.”

Shit. Collins’ voice was as calm and professional as it could get, but it didn’t stop Farrier’s heart from squeezing its way to his throat. The enemy skyrocketed in his direction and Collins was ready to meet him head on. The two swarmed around each other. Twisting, turning, while Farrier set up to take him out. He didn’t have to say a word for Collins to pick up on what he needed done. The younger pilot darted in and out, teasing the son of a bitch as the perfect distraction. Farrier held back. Letting Collins get him in just...the right...spot…

There.

Farrier had him right in the cross hairs. Without another thought, he let the bullets fly. Smoke poured from the brightly colored plane and it went down into the water below. Crashing into pieces and bleeding black into the sea.

Perfect shot.

“Great work, boys,” Ives voice came over the headset. “Great work.”

Collins waggled his wings as he flew past Farrier to get back into position of creating their makeshift fortress around the bomber. Farrier could imagine him smiling brightly in the cockpit.

They made it back to land in one piece and no other incidents. Late in the evening, when the sun was kissing the Earth. Farrier eased out of his plane and went to messing around with his ear as soon as he slipped his hood off. That damn ringing. It was always worse after a flight or when it was time for him to sleep.

“Hey Fortis 1,” Collins walked up behind him. “Nayce bullet work.”

“Thanks,” Farrier lowered his hand. “Nice reckless flying, Fortis 2.”

“Learned from the master,” Collins lightly bumped Farrier’s shoulder with his own. Farrier smiled. It was good to see Collins back in his right state. Sunny and handling the Spitfire like a pro. It made him feel some sort of hope in this dark world they were living in. Enough hope to make him feel a little bold.

“Doing anything over the weekend?”

“Mm, nah.”

“No dates? That’s a miracle.”

“Yeh, yeh. Even ay get a bit tuckered out, sometimes. Now, what do ye have in maynd?”

“Been wanting to try out that new bar at the end of the street. Reynolds said they have some pretty good stuff.”

“Sounds good ta me. So, what? Friday? Saturday?”

“I think Friday night will be good.” It was closer, for one thing.

“Rayght. Sounds layk a plan. You still owe me that drink for scaring me half ta death anyway, Layghtning,” Collins stuck his tongue out at him.

As the week passed sluggishly by the day, Farrier was finding that this might not have been the best idea. One, he was becoming a little too preoccupied by it. Oh, what should he wear? Not like he had a big wardrobe of anything to show off in. Not that he  _ needed _ to  _ show off _ ,  necessarily. What did he think this was? A date? Ridiculous.

Then, later in the week, Collins announced that he invited Pruitt to go along. It took a lot of power not to object.  _ I wanted this to be just a me and you thing, Collins. Am I that hard to read? _ Well, it was good if he was. He should be glad for it. But he merely kept that to himself and smiled, “that’s fine”. When Friday came, his palms were damp and he brushed his hair, for the umpteenth time. As if Collins hadn’t already seen his hair today.

Again, ridiculous.

“Ready ta go, old man?” Collins walked in, smelling of soap and cologne, and dabbing his own hair dry. “Gettin’ a bit close to yer bedtime, aren’t we?”

“So, you want me to stop teasing you but you still feel the need to make fun of my age,” Farrier tugged a thick, white sweater over his tank top.

“Ya never stopped teasing me, so yeh. Fair game, rayght?”

His smile was a wry one. Farrier rolled his eyes.

“If I recall, you started it, lad,” Farrier swatted his coat at Collins’ backside, which he easily dodged.

“Are we really keeping score, now?”

“As much as we do for anything else.”

“Petty.”

The two men soon left their room and found Pruitt in front of his. He was all grins. Getting to go out with the guys. How fun. Farrier couldn’t even be mad at the little third wheeled bastard.

They went out into the brisk wind, side by side (by side) and decided it was close enough to walk. Actually, Collins made the decision and proclaimed that the cold air would be good to toughen them up. Specifically, to toughen Pruitt and Farrier up, because he was hardy enough. Which lead Pruitt to dare him to make the trip shirtless. Something Farrier quickly put an end to. The last thing the RAF needed was to lose a pilot to hypothermia due to a stupid dare, of all things. How embarrassing would that be? Collins denied he was even physically capable of getting hypothermia and it was then that Farrier realized that he was currently this idiot’s only impulse control.

They made it to the bar without a problem (he made sure of it). Pruitt chose a table at the far corner. A ‘good place to watch the girls from’, according to him. It was also a spot that allowed Farrier to see the whole room and scan for any danger, so they all sat down and ordered their drinks. Collins and Pruitt got themselves tall glasses of Scotch. Both ragging on each other, even then. That or looking at the red headed girl with the blue dress on. A girl that Collins swore would never be interested in Pruitt. Farrier sighed and sipped on his glass of gin. Who was the third wheel, now?

“Alright, alright,” Collins said. “Ay’ll give ye five pounds, if ye can get ‘er to dance with you.”

“You really think she wouldn’t want me?” Pruitt frowned.

“Ay didn’t say ye couldn’t have yer moments. That’s why ay settled at five, instead of something more. Twenty or something.”

“Fine,” Pruitt got up from his seat. “Better prepare to be five pounds poorer, Collins.”

“Oh, ay’ll be alrayght,” Collins waved his hand. Pruitt stuck out his chest and marched right over there. Though noticeably deflating, the closer he got.

“Aw look, you scared him,” Farrier said. Collins laughed. Pruitt had gotten about a foot from her, before glancing back, unsure. She didn’t even notice him (though her friend did).

“ _ Go on _ ,” Collins mouthed in his direction. Pruitt had to take a deep breath, before gathering himself, again.

“Lad needs a push,” he said.  

“Seems so,” Farrier drank more of his gin, watching the scene unfold as a red faced Pruitt seemed to stumble over his words at the smiling girl and her friend.

“Mm, why don’ you go?”

“Oh, trying to get rid of me?”

“Ay mean,” Collins shrugged. “Thought ye said ye did alrayght with the birds.”

“When I feel the mood strike. Which I don’t.”

“Is that yer second drink?”

“No.”

“Ay think it is,” a slow smile spread over Collins’ face. “How many does it usually take before the mood strikes?”

Farrier glared over the rim of his glass. Collins’ smile just grew bigger. More mischievous.  

“Why don’t  _ you _ ask her, then?”

“Oh...not in the mood, either. Ay’d rather watch.”

“Hmph. Kinky.”

Collins eyebrows went into his bangs. Farrier immediately regretted speaking.

“Not what ay meant, but alrayght,” he chuckled. “So, yer a moody  _ and _ improper drunk. Ay kind of think ay’m interested in seeing where this is headed.”

“Collins.”

“Yes?”

“Please do be quiet.”

Oh, he was quiet, alright. Quietly leaning his chin on his fist and staring at Farrier with the most stupid smile on his face. So, he thought he was being cute, did he?

“This is the last time I’m taking you anywhere,” Farrier grumped.

“Aw, will ye lighten up, Pa? S’no big deal. Yer always so uptayght, it’s just nayce ta see ye edging closer to loosening up.”

“Fuck off. I don’t need to loosen up. I’m...perfectly fine.”

He glanced over in Pruitt’s direction. He was dancing with the red headed girl, after all. And as soon as he caught his mates staring, he stuck his tongue out. That was obviously for Collins.

“Oh look,” Collins said. “How cute.”

“Mm,” Farrier found a fleeting thought of asking Collins to dance. Stupid. He chased it away. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“Oh, go ask her friend ta dance,” Collins sighed. “Stop being such a grouch.”

“I’m  _ not _ . Not being a  _ grouch _ .”

“Well, let’s get some fresh air then, before ye fall out er something. Sheesh, ye cannae hold yer alcohol, can ya? Wouldn’t last half an hour at one of may family’s parties.” 

Before Farrier could even come up with an argument, Collins grabbed his elbow and ushered him out the back door, into the cold. Farrier meant to say that he didn’t particularly like the cold, but his tongue apparently wasn’t going to work for him. Though who was he kidding? Collins knew he hated the cold. He  _ knew _ that already, the bastard. And Farrier was going to tell him that he was a bastard, too. Yes he was. He was going to tell him.

“You’re a bastard, Collins.”

“Ha! Ay know,” he winked. The nerve. And he handed him a cigarette, which Farrier grumbled a thank you for. Collins watched him light it with shaky hands. Farrier almost asked him who the hell he thought he was looking at.

“Ay get scared. Sometaymes. Up in the air? Y’know, thinking aboot...how close we are ta dying, all the tayme. Really, it’s layk ye said, ay’m barely in may twenties. A lot of us are. Barely in our twenties and the fate of Europe is on _us_. Hell, the guys on the ground, they’re even younger.”

Farrier didn’t look at him, but felt his brow furrow a bit. From somewhere way in the back of his head, past the alcohol induced haze, he wondered where all of that was suddenly coming from.

Collins shrugged, as if he’d heard his question. “Ye wanted ta know why ay cannae sleep. Earlier.”

“Oh. Right.”

“So. Yeh. Ay get scared sometaymes. But you. Yer always so steady.”

Well, that was the trick. To fake it well, so the youngin’s felt they had someone to rely on. It helped settled their fears a bit, when those in charge showed some bravery. Wouldn’t help any of them to know it was all a facade.

“Mostly,” Collins added.

Mostly? Where did he think he was going with  _ that _ ?

“Until there’s some bird around.”

Farrier spun on him and growled, “Why the hell are you dragging me out here for this?”

Collins froze up a bit. He held his breath for a second, before letting it out to speak. “Ay...okey, that came out wrong.”

“Did it, now?”

“Yeh. Ay, uh...ay wanted ta ask ye something.”

A million tiny gears started going in Farrier’s head, each producing nothing less than a fearful, angry little thought of its own. Thoughts he couldn’t even give words to, but oh he felt them deep in his bones.

“Well, go on,” he shifted, stumbling a bit (damn those drinks). Seeing Collins’ face made him think he’d said it in more of a harsh manner than he’d intended. “The fuck’re you wanting to know, then? Hm?”

Collins almost said something. Then paused. Then mentally went about it, again. Farrier could see the thoughts racing through the boy’s head and it was making him more agitated by the second.

“Ay, well,” Collins looked at the ground. He looked at the sky. He looked everywhere  _ but _ at Farrier.

“Collins, it is freezing damn cold out here and I’m going to punch you if you son’t,  _ don’t, _ don’t come out with it.”

Collins took a deep breath and made his resolve. “You...yer kaynda around Pauly a good bit.”

Farrier felt this tightness behind his eyes that was making him see red spots. “Yes? And?”

“You...ye know...ye know he’s uh...ye  _ know _ …”

“Gay?”

“Um,” he pressed his lips together. “Yeh.”

“ _ And? _ ”

“Well, he...you...are you...don’, don’ be mad…but are you…?”

Farrier just stared at him, dumbfounded. Did he really just ask him that? “Did you really just ask me that?” Oh, well he thought that one had stayed in his head.

“No, no, ay...there’s a reason…”

“Did...you  _ really _ just ask me that, Collins?”

He swallowed. And paled (and for him to pale, well, that’s saying something). “Ay, ay don’ mean anything bay it…”

“Then why the  _ fuck _ are you asking me in the first place?”

“Ay wanted to know if ye would…”

“Is it any of your damn business?” he stumbled a little closer to him. Bared teeth, clenched fists and all. Collins immediately started backing up.

“N-no.”

“Why do you think it is, anyway?”

He opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. Farrier felt heat going through his face. How did that little bastard even  _ figure _ ...when Pauly said he was bad at hiding things, he thought it was because they’d known each other for a long time. This was dangerous. This was dangerous and he was scared and pissed off and why did he even think any of this was a good idea?

“Ay just...ay donno.”

“Oh, now  _ you donno _ ?”

Collins glared at him.

“Go on, then! Can’t get you to shut up any other time! Why now are you not wanting to say what’s on your mind?”

Now he was trembling. “Ay...ay just wanted to ask ye something…”

“Well do me a favor and  _ shut the hell up _ for once. You don’t need to ask me  _ anything _ .”

“Farrier, ay swear it’s...it’s not really what yer thinking.”

“Then  _ enlighten me _ .”

Collins swallowed. “Just, just forget it. Ay’m sorry. Ay didn’t mean to drag anything up…”

“Well, might as well! I’m apparently so obvious to everyone!”

“Farrier,” Collins looked around. Yes, Farrier was being louder than usual. Much louder. And no, he didn’t particularly care because it was taking everything in him not to scream or pummel this little bastard. This little bastard whose eyes were glued to the ground. His arms folded. This was so much worse than when he was worried about Farrier pushing him away. He looked like he was about to cry and why the hell was  _ he _ about to cry? What was wrong with him? He wasn’t the one looking at his future jumping off a cliff in front of him. 

“Listen to me,” he snarled and shoved his finger against Collins’ chest. “You better not breathe a word of it to anyone.  _ Do you hear me? _ ”

“Ay wasn’t going to,” Collins voice shook. “Ay just...ay wasn’t prying for it to hurt you. Ay just wanted…”

“I don’t particularly  _ care _ what you fucking wanted. Just make sure it  _ stays between your teeth _ .”

“ _ Farrier _ , ay’m not going ta tell anyone!”

“Then what the fuck do you  _ want _ ?!”

Collins looked up at him with those bright blue eyes and Farrier hated himself and hated  _ him _ and oh, how could he hate him? He could see the light from the moon shining on those unspilled tears. Was he  _ that _ scary? 

“Ay...remember when ay said...when ay said,” his voice shuddered. “That there was somebody ay wanted to be with? And asking wasn’t that easy?”

Farrier blinked slowly. His mind wasn’t quite catching up to what Collins was saying.

“Ay…” now tears  _ were _ falling down his cheeks. “Ay’m sorry ay was just...ay should’ve asked differently but...but ay didn’t know...ay’ve felt...ay’ve felt  _ ay _ might’ve been. Been layk you and Pauly. Sort of. But ay was scared. You know how people are, when they know. When they faynd out? A man...a man gets the idea ye have feelings for him and...and he’s not gay...ay mean, it can end badly…”

He breathed in and wiped his cheeks with his sleeve. Farrier stared at him, still not knowing what the hell was going on. It couldn’t have been what he  _ thought _ was going on. He must have been seeing things or having a weird dream. His chest felt tight with regret and he was absolutely hoping this was a weird dream.

“Ay’m so sorry, Farrier. Ay just wanted ta make sure ye were, before ay asked. It was stupid... _ay’m_ stupid for just...asking so bluntly, but…” he folded his arms against his chest and started to go back toward the building. “Ay’m sorry, Farrier.”

Farrier felt sick to his stomach. He stayed there for a moment. More than a moment, staring at Collins’ back as he went through the door. He couldn’t move, not toward it, not away from it. In fact, he still wasn’t quite sure what had happened. At all. (Though he was sure if Pauly was there, he probably would’ve smacked him over the head).

Collins just had to do that while he was drunk, didn’t he?

Farrier finally made himself walk back to the bar. Sluggish or not, he had to…

When he opened the door, he easily found Collins in the dark corner, next to the bathroom. He wasn’t outright crying, but his face was still wet. And he was sniffing. And his nose was red. And Farrier just hated himself more for it.

“Collins?” he softly called.

But Collins had already heard the door and was trying to huddle a bit deeper into the corner.

“Collins,” Farrier slowly went up to him, making sure to keep an unsteady hand on the wall as he went. “Hey, hey, come here.”

He reached out, gently taking his wrist. Collins was hesitant, not daring to give in or look at him. Whether he was embarrassed, mad, heart sore, or scared, Farrier couldn’t quite tell. And if the boy had just decided to punch him at that moment, he wouldn’t have argued with it. Would’ve welcomed it, to be honest.

“Maggie, please come here. Please?”

He didn’t even gripe at being called by that nickname. But after a moment, he slowly turned, trying to wipe all traces of his crying away before he looked up.

“Are you okay?” Farrier coaxed. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. You’re okay, right?”

What a dumb question that was. Farrier sighed and tried again.

“Come here. Let’s go home, then. This didn’t...this didn’t end up being a good night, did it?”

Collins shrugged, his eyes finding the floor, again. “Ay really didn’t mean anything, Farrier. Wasn’t gonna...gonna use it against you or anything,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “Ay’m sorry…”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m fine, really. You’re the one…” he couldn’t quite get his words straight. Damn, couldn’t his brain work for him, at all? “Let’s just get out of here, okay? Actually...actually, stay here a moment. I’ll be right back.”

He quickly went back to the main area, with all the headache inducing music and cigarette smoke. Now, where was he? Where was he? Oh, there he was. Pruitt was a man on a mission, with two drinks in hand. Headed toward their table, which was now occupied by the red headed girl. He had no idea where her friend had got off to.

“Pruitt.”

“Huh? Oh, hey! There you are! Where’s Collins? He just ran off, somewhere.”

“That’s actually what I was going to say, er, tell you about. We’re going to go back. Will you be fine, here?”

“Going home, already?” he frowned. “I mean, I’m plenty fine on my own, but why?”

“Collins isn’t feeling too well. I was going to take him home.”

“He’s sick? Is he okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he could almost feel the floor shift. “He’s okay. Just needs a bed. To go to bed. Some water, maybe. It’s nothing serious.”

Pruitt cocked his head, with a concerned look on his face. “Okay, then. Tell him I hope he feels better. I’ll look in on him in the morning.”

“Right. Thanks,” Farrier smiled. Now, to go back to where he’d left him. With all these nice things to stumble over.

And of course, he wasn’t there. Farrier immediately opened the door. He hadn’t seen him go back inside…

Oh good, he hadn’t gone far. Leaning against the brick, with his coat on. He must have been waiting for him.

“Hey,” Farrier shut the door behind him. “Ready to go?”

Collins nodded, tightening his hold on the fur lining. Farrier trotted down the stairs (bad idea) and noticed Collins grin, ever so slightly, when he lost his footing. Okay. He’d let him have that one. They walked in silence for a little bit, neither knowing what they should do, at this point. There was so much tension between them. Farrier tried to go back and think, what he should’ve said. How he could have kept his composure. All of this, that, and the other.

Then he thought about how his father looked when he was drunk. When Farrier would go hide under his bed, when he was a kid, listening to stuff being broken at the other side of the house. His mom crying. Collin’s face getting pale. Backing up. Scared.

He was starting to feel sick.

“Pa,” Collins breathed.

“Don’t call me that,” Farrier immediately said back. Collins stopped in his step. Farrier followed suit, hoping he hadn’t sounded snappish.

“Okey. Sorry.”

Farrier sighed. Quiet Collins was back. Here they were again, and once more, it was all his fault. Despite Collins telling him what he wanted (he still wasn’t quite wrapping his head around that, yet), Farrier was starting to think that maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to pursue it. Collins was like the sun. The last thing he needed was for his light to be put out by a man who hated himself too much. He shouldn’t have to keep fixing things he was breaking. He shouldn’t have kept breaking things, in the first place.

When they got back to base, Farrier opened the door to their room and let Collins go in first. After following him inside, Farrier sat down on his bed, leaning his elbows on his knees. Collins sat across from him. Both still in silence. But, well...they definitely needed to talk about this.

“Hey, uh,” Farrier started, stumbling over his words. “You can...you can sit over here with me. Um, if you’d like.”

Collins looked a little hesitant.

“Only if you want, though. You don’t have to.”

He nodded. And apparently made his decision by staying put. Farrier took a deep breath and let it out.

“Collins, I...I am so sorry for all...for all of that. I didn’t mean to act so...brutish.”

“It’s okey.”

“It’s not. It’s really not and you need to stop saying that it’s okay when I fuck up. It’s not healthy."

“Fayn, fayn,” he got a little bit of his fire back. Thankfully. “What do ye want me to do? Yell back?”

“Well, if that’s what you need to do.”

“Ay’m not  _ going _ to. Ay get it, Farrier. Ay’ve seen it first hand how cruel and evil people can be...ay’d rather not talk about it, but ay  _ get it _ . You’re scared. Hell, ay’m scared. Ye donno if someone will end up leaving ye alone or knocking ye out with a paype, when they find out.”

He sighed and wrung his hands.

“Ye didn’t know why ay was asking. Kaynda sprung it up on ye. Should’ve done it a lot better. Eased into it. Something.”

Farrier thought about it. And to be honest, he didn’t know of any way Collins could have asked that wouldn’t have given him a shock. Maybe if he wasn’t fighting all this dizziness, he could think straight.

“Either way,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t’ve gotten all...shouldn’t have gone after you like that.”

“But ay’m not mad, Farrier. And that’s _why_ ay’m not mad…”

“I made you cry…”

Collins let out a little huff. “You...scared me a little. Ay’m still not mad, though.”

“I was scary enough to make  _ you _ cry?”

“Ay wasn’t even  _ crying _ , really.”

Farrier was going to argue that further, but he figured it would be best to put his hands up on the matter. “Come here.”

Collins glanced at him, briefly. But he didn’t hesitate, this time. He slowly got to his feet and crossed the small room to settle on the bed. Farrier wrapped his arms around him. Collins laid his head against his shoulder, while Farrier sat his chin in his hair (this still felt like a weird dream).

“You’ve always been a bold one,” Farrier said. “I’ll give you that.”

“Heh. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. It really is. You’re right. I was scared. And mad. Yeah, I was fuckin’...fucking pissed. More at myself, though...and you didn’t deserve how I acted. Not at all. I’m sorry, Collins. I really hope you can forgive me for showing my arse so much, lately.”

“Ye had an excuse.”

“No,” he buried his face in Collins bright hair. It still smelled like shampoo. “No.”

Collins sighed. Farrier could tell he still didn’t agree with him, but he let it go, saying, “Fayn. Okey, ay forgive you. And ay hope ye can forgive me for being so insensitive.”

“Of course,” Farrier turned his head with the intent to kiss him. But, did he dare? Was this  _ real _ ? No, he’d better not do that. Not yet. “I think I’m going to stay away from alcohol, though.”

“What? Yer  _ never _ drinking again?”

Farrier thought about it. A beer or two didn’t do much, but he was seeing an ugly side of himself that he didn’t want to show up ever again. It was too risky. He couldn’t even bear the thought that he could be like his father. That he could make Collins cry again. Or worse...

“No. I don’t need it. Don't need th’ stuff. I have my cigarettes. And it’s making me into an idiot. Making me feel like I’m going to float off, somewhere.”

Collins looked quite surprised. “Yer never drinking anything again...cause of me?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“But...ye didn’t?”

“I hurt your feelings.”

Collins scoffed.

“Listen,” Farrier pushed him back a bit, so they could look at each other. He clutched onto Collins shoulders to keep from toppling over. “I have kind of a lot going on. It took a lot...such a long damn time for me to even accept that I fancy men. It wasn’t exactly looked well upon in my house. My father was a nasty drunk and I don’t...I don’t want to ever see you...y’know become like my Ma. Okay? I don’t want your light to go out.”

He frowned. “Farrier, ay don’ know yer daw, but...well, from the way he sounds and the way ay know you, ay don’ see that happening.”

Farrier swallowed. “I just want you to know. Know what you’re getting into from the beginning. All this ridiculous baggage, here. I mean if you still...want to. Y’know, if you still like me.”

“Still layk you? What are we in grade school?”

“I’m terribly sorry that I can’t find the most romantic words, right now. But yes. Do you still like me?  _ Like me _ , like me?”

Collins laughed. That brought a smile to Farrier’s face. “Yeh, ay guess so.”

“You, um, you want to stay with me, tonight?"

“Yeh," Collins leaned all the way into Farrier’s chest. Farrier felt like he could scarcely breathe - and it wasn’t because of him holding him so tightly.

The two of them got dressed for bed, not long after that. Farrier crawled in and held the blankets up for Collins to follow. Still a little disbelieving, when the boy curled up against him, settling his head under Farrier’s chin, so he could lay again on his chest. It was warm. Comfortable. Even in that tiny bed, which was definitely not made for two grown men. (And even though he knew he’d have one hell of a headache, when he woke up).

_ Comfortable _ .

Farrier slowly stroked his hair, which had Collins asleep in minutes. Soft breathing. The rhythm of his heart. _ I don’t deserve you _ , Farrier thought.  _ But I love you more than you’ll ever know. _

It was the first night in weeks that he didn’t have any nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, I finished something!   
> The last half of this actually ended up being a lot...different than I'd planned. Their initial "getting together" was supposed to be a lot nicer than that, but they wanted to fight so bad, I just let it happen. Rather, Farrier wasn't going to let that be easy, I guess is more the reason than them actually wanting to fight. I'll be writing more of them later, though. They need more cute bf moments than what they got in this story.  
> Hope you guys enjoyed it <3


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